<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Outcasts and Old Gods by 1Julie_Ruin7</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26637625">Outcasts and Old Gods</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/1Julie_Ruin7/pseuds/1Julie_Ruin7'>1Julie_Ruin7</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>South Park</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>3rd person pov, Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - 1930s, Alternate Universe - Boarding School, Horror, M/M, Masturbation, Mystery, POV Alternating, Period Typical Attitudes, Psychological Horror, Slow Burn, Supernatural Elements, Thriller, everyone is bi, side pairings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 08:27:34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>33,078</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26637625</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/1Julie_Ruin7/pseuds/1Julie_Ruin7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Kyle is sent from his home in the city to a rural boarding school in South Park. When strange events begin to occur at the school, Kyle is ostracised and blamed for them. He turns to Kenny, the school caretaker and groundskeeper and the two begin to investigate the incidents but end up uncovering far more than they wished to.</p><p>More tags to be added</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Kyle Broflovski/Kenny McCormick</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>42</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Arrival</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>"You’ve done this to yourself, young man."</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>As Kyle sat on the rickety horse drawn cart with snowflakes soaking through the pages of his book, shivering in the silk shirt he thought would be just fine, those words rang through his head. There was more to it than that, money mostly. This being a punishment made it easier for his parents to justify sending him away as opposed to Ike. No one wanted to admit that it was just more practical in the grand scheme of things, especially not his mother. Kyle would’ve been more respectful of the situation had she done that. He had pleaded his case and everything came back to those words.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Kyle hadn’t caused the stock market to crash or for the way everyone on the city had turned on him and his people. He also hadn’t caused tuition fees for ten year olds to be cheaper than that for sixteen year olds. The only thing he had ever done was stand up for himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> So now, he was freezing in the snarls of cold air on his way to Park County Charitable Academy with a coachman that looked as though he couldn't whether or not to pull off in a secluded country path and have his way with Kyle or steal anything valuable he had on him. Presently they were ascending a mountain path. It seemed the only way in or out of South Park on a straight trajectory but once they turned off of it, Kyle would be completely lost. That’s why he kept the tome firmly on his lap, in spite of the fact that it was getting ruined. It was heavy and leather bound, with enough force, it would make a decent weapon. Not the best, it was a bit short so the man would already have to be quiet close but it would do if he had to defend himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> One of the wheels on the cart jerked and Kyle thought it might fall off at any moment. He was probably at an equal risk of being thrown from the ramshackle cart before the coachman did anything nefarious to him. Of course he might just take him to the school. Kyle considered that he was just overreacting but he’d been taught to be careful around strangers, especially adult men that were so much bigger than him. Being alone and secluded with one was frightening but he wasn’t a boy anymore, he could defend himself so long as he was prepared. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Once they reached the top of the road, Kyle could see farmland spread out for miles with a few barns and lonesome houses. There were mines in South Park too but Kyle couldn’t see any slag heaps from here. The cart Kyle was sat in was probably used to take coal to the train station most of the time. Coal prices were always falling, it seemed like everyday people were finding something better to use, like oil. That’s what cars ran on and Kyle imagined that’s what trains would run on soon enough. When that happened, Kyle could only imagine the worst for the little mountain town. Maybe some factories might come. They’d spoil the scenery immensely but that was better than going hungry. He doubted that factories would come though, the town was small and the terrain would make it difficult to build them. In the city, factories were everywhere because there were always a few thousand people looking for work and they were never far from a train station to transport their goods. Here, it would be more difficult. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> An imposing building came into view as they rounded the path at its peak. It looked like a penitentiary with its tall fences and grey stone. The only thing it was missing was a guard tower. It was just a speck on the horizon but it gave Kyle a feeling of dread. It was a singular sight among the homely cottages with their colourful peeling paint and cosy porches. As it came closer into view, Kyle could tell it must’ve been built a long time ago. The latest he would’ve placed would be the turn of the century, before the war definitely, but it was probably older. It didn’t feel like a building that was only thirty years old.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “That’s the school,” the coachman said, gruffly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “It looks abandoned.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “It ain’t. They used it for civilisin’ the Indians that used t'live around here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> That didn’t sit quite right with Kyle. He also thought it was best to leave the indigenous folk to their reservations and get on with themselves. Maybe he was biased. He was used to people in the city bothering him for being different from them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Is it still for Indians?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You scared?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “No, I’m just curious.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Nah, most of ‘em stay in the res these days, don’t even live nearby no more.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> The rest of the journey was quiet and Kyle felt unsettled as the horse halted suddenly, the cart thrashing forward and his suitcase spilling open from being knocked over. Kyle hurriedly got his things together as well as trying to find the two dollars he owed the coachman. Kyle knew he was trying to scam him. From the moment that Kyle had left the train platform, the coachman had seen Kyle's clothing and suitcase and decided he was well to do. There had been some minor quarrelling over charging so much for a short journey but the man insisted that the roads were hazardous . At the end of the day, no one else was around to take him there, he doubted that there were any taxi cabs in the area so he relented on the exorbitant price and hoped to arrive unscathed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You ain’t got a tip for me?” He asked with a toothy grin, his eyes hovering over him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You bled me dry, that’s all my parents gave me,” he lied. He had phone calls to make and letters to write. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Well can’t you be a nice boy and save thank you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Thank you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Don’t sound so sour, it don’t suit your face.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Kyle ignored him in lieu of trying to get the gate open but it was locked. He wrapped his hands around the chain link webbed between the iron bars and shook to no avail. Kyle’s heart beat picked up a little bit as he heard the coachman dismount. He walked with a limp that made heavy thuds against the ground as he approached.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Can’t open it?” His voice was heavy and as he crowded up against him, the smell of alcohol on his breath was strong. Not like the whisky his dad kept in his office to celebrate a successful trial either. It was more like the stuff he’d tried at parties when Christophe had managed to get some off of bootleggers. It was awful stuff, smelled like paint stripper and probably tasted like it too so they tried to drown it in anything they could get their hands on, usually juice. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “There’s a bell,” the man grabbed Kyle’s hand in his own and led it up to a chain on a brass bell that hung solemnly above the gate, “Give a it a tug and someone should come,” he whispered. Kyle snatched his hand away before ringing the bell and trying not to look affected. The sound was loud and clear and eventually someone hurried from the building down the stony path. The man was tall and thin, probably in his late fifties and his head looked swollen from how he had knotted his tie. He removed the bolts from the gate and let Kyle in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You must be Kyle,” he said, “You’ve missed lunch. I’ll have someone show you to the dorms and then get you your schedule, m’kay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yes, that’s fine. Thank you.” Kyle gripped the strap on his suitcase so tightly that he felt his hand going numb but at least his heart was beginning to slow down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Stanley,” the man called out to a broad shouldered all American looking type with his hair parted down the middle and slicked into a stiff neatness. Kyle couldn’t imagine trying to pomade his own wild tangle of curls down, instead he kept his flat cap firmly on his head to try and keep them from getting anymore dishevelled than they already were.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “How can I help, Mr. Mackey?” the boy asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Show Kyle to his dorm, m’kay? Room 3B, m’kay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Of course,” he answered. “Can I help you with that? It looks heavy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I’m alright, thank you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Kyle gave waved to the teacher who had let him in and began to follow Stanley who would occasionally nod to other boys around the school. A fair few of them were wearing overalls and flannels, otherwise they wore loose trousers and ill-fitting jackets, sometimes with a wool vest or sweater. Those sweaters often looked to be made of a mix of different wools, probably what their mothers had lying around. Kyle felt out of place enough in his single vest and even worse about the fact that the only warm coat he owned was a frock coat that had been well on its way out of fashion when his mother was his age. She had insisted that it was too fine a garment to be repurposed and that Kyle looked so dashing in it. Kyle thought it looked awful and Christophe had only liked it because he was obnoxious and said it reminded him of something Oscar Wilde might wear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “How is it here?” Kyle asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “It’s fine enough, I don’t know about boarding though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Are you from around here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yeah but live near town not all the way out here. Where’re you from?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “The city.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I thought so. People always say people down in the city are kind of... bohemian.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Kyle laughed, “Are these things really that outdated?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “No, no. Well, a bit. But it in a good way. You look like some kind of aristocrat or something. I keep expecting you to start talking with a funny accent and call me a peasant.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Their conversation paused as Stanley pushed open the splintering double doors that lead into the school. Cracked tiles sprawled out in front of them and into a dizzying maze of hallways. There were gloomy walls, painted a shade of yellow that was probably supposed to be cheery but it faded over time and instead made the place look murky. There was cracked, worm eaten panelling along the walls, it looked like it had been made from pine wood but Kyle wasn’t an expert on distinguishing different types of wood. There were a grand set of stairs with a brass banister that had tarnished over the years that were in the dead centre of the hallway. Even though they were well beyond their best years, they felt out of place in their loftiness. Stanley began the climb up them and Kyle began to notice the high ceilings.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “So I look pompous?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Pompous?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Like an ass.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “No, dignified I s'pose. But I think that's contrary to what people usually mean by bohemian.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yeah, like women in slacks?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Exactly!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I think you can be both. There were some women that wore slacks and they always looked so refined that you wouldn’t have thought there was anything queer about it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “But that’s what I mean, there’s no way you wouldn’t find that thing strange around here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “People in the city are usually to busy to care about that sort of thing. I imagine around here you have time to notice people and what they do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Really? I couldn't imagine how it is there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> They’d finished the first flight of stairs and had the second set to go. They were no longer as front and centre so they had to start weaving through corridors and pushing open sets of doors, making idle chatter as they went. This flight of stairs looked brittle as though one wrong step might make them collapse. Stanley, however, didn’t seem to think this and went up them without a single change in his gait. Kyle tried to match his nonchalance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Okay, so the third floor is just dorms and some washrooms,” they came out into a room with a low ceiling and a large window facing out on to the courtyard. It was cracked in places but reinforced with a bug net and an old writing slate that looked as though it had been shattered. There were two sets of doors, one on the left with a cursive sign that read “Girls’ Dormitory” and the other on the right that read “Boys’ Dormitory” in the same loopy script.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “It’s cold up here,” Kyle complained as they rounded the corner to 3B. When they reached it Kyle was disturbed to find that the room looked like a cramped hospital ward with metal bedframes and a single ensuite washroom with a door that looked to be clinging onto its hinges. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Maybe you could charm one of the girls into making you an extra blanket.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I think it’d just end up getting stolen the moment I was out of its sight.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> The only unoccupied bed was right next to the window and the wind was rattling it panes something fierce. Even with the latch closed, it seemed that the rusted old thing wasn’t enough to keep Mother Nature at bay. Kyle sat himself down on the bed and began to unpack, putting some books in the side table he was provided with along with his tooth brush and some other essentials.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Okay so, you’re not supposed to have other students up here and you’re not supposed to come up here while it’s school hours so from nine to two. Mackey'll probably forget to tell you that and Mr Garrison is always looking for excuses to break out the cane. Also, the faucet in this dorm is broken. The one at the sink, that is. Barely any water comes out and when it does, it’s got this weird black stuff in it. Some kid drank it and he’s been in the infirmary for the past few days. Just use the faucet in the bath if you need to was your hands.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Well, if I need to get out of any classes, I know what faucet to drink from.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “That’s gross.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Anyway, thank you for giving me the run down, Stanley.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Please, call me Stan. I only get called Stanley when I’m in trouble.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Alright, Stan,” Kyle shut his suitcase and pushed it under his bed. “Can you take me to Mr Mackey’s office. I only just realised I have no clue where it is.”</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Mr Mackey told Kyle, after setting up a class schedule for him, that he was free to get settled in as he pleased for the day. Kyle asked if that meant he could take a nap since he’d been on the train so early. Mackey assured him that that would be perfectly fine and stressed the importance of getting enough sleep. Kyle smiled and quickly made his way back to the dorm rooms. Since the other students were in class right now, it was empty and Kyle could take the room in properly for the first time. It was the same ugly paint and panelling as the first floor but instead of a tiled floor there were creaky wooden slats that groaned under Kyle’s feet. There were no curtains that might have blocked out the wintery air escaping through the gaps in the panes either.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Kyle overlooked the courtyard which was more dirt than grass. The snow made the ground here so frigid that it had probably given up trying to grow. Among the sea of brown was a little annexe, better described as a shack with a tin roof. It looked like it was a more recent addition, having been made with stucco instead of stone like the school. A boy with wild blonde hair leaned against the door of the shack with a cigarette between his lips. His clothes were even worse for wear than the other students, holes were worn into the knees of his overalls and they were covered in all sorts of stains. He stubbed out the cigarette with his foot and disappeared inside the shack before emerging with a tool kit and a broom.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Kyle thought for a moment that the boy had seen him looking and he felt the ridiculous urge to duck or hide under the blanket on his bed but soon realised that he was actually just examining the building. Eventually the blond got on with whatever it was that he was doing and Kyle decided to go to sleep.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Ectoplasm</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I'm trying to avoid any anachronism but I'm also trying not to interested in being completely historically accurate. Like, if some old timey sland feels right I'll use it but if it feels force I'm just going to have them talk more modern. Anyway, I found out that Paperback books didn't exist until 1935 and that a hardback book cost the equivalent of like $40 which is terrifying lol. Anyway, I realised after doing some research that the plain wrappers I was thinking of were actually for pulp magazines with particularly salacious covers, a bit like in the UK where we put porno mags in "modesty wrappers" so that children don't see them.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When Park County was built, a large wooden cross had been nailed to the wall facing the courtyard. It hung above the exit and spanned the second and third floor. When Kenny saw it, his stomach filled dread. It was supposed to of course. The most morbid possible reminder of Jesus Christ’s sacrifice hanging over the students was intended to instill Catholic guilt in them about any of their wayward habits. Kenny’s dread was not of the religious sort. The wood of the cross was rotted and discoloured from constant snow and rain. Kenny didn’t know what nails had hammered it into stone but he imagined that they were now rusty and brittle, a bad day away from snapping and letting the cross hit the ground.</p><p> Kenny always found himself staring at when he left his shack. He had half convinced himself that he was going to be crushed to death by it whilst he shovelled up snow from the doorway. Weighing up the many ways he had nearly died in his sixteen years, he could not sufficiently conclude whether that might be enough to do the job. By the age of five he had survived drinking detergent, being thrown from a cart, almost drowning in Stark’s pond, being attacked by a feral dog and choking on a chicken bone. Those were only the near deaths that stuck out in his mind. His mother said she was torn between saying the boy was lucky or cursed. Whatever the case, it felt as though the grim reaper himself was constantly at his heels.</p><p> Kenny pushed the childhood trauma deep down as per usual and told himself to get on with his work. Today’s primary task was to fix a light fixture in the mess hall. The fixture in question was flickering something awful and had been setting Tweek Tweak off. At first Garrison had argued that it should be left alone to teach Tweek a lesson about being less neurotic and to encourage him to get over the frivolous issue. However that had been a month ago, at the beginning of the semester and Tweek’s reactions were the same and the rest of the faculty were either ready to kill the neurotic blond or smash the lightbulb themselves. The students had very similar feelings about the matter.</p><p> He shut the door to his shack after deciding he definitely had everything he needed for the job at hand and then cast a final weary glance at the cross. It was as solemn and rundown as ever, going green at the edges from water damage. </p><hr/><p>It became apparent after Kenny put a working bulb in the fixture that the issue was not with the bulbs but the circuits that controlled the lighting. Kenny had no clue why this was the case, he wasn’t an electrician and unless they tore out the boards in the ceiling, there was no way to check what the issue was. The school didn’t have the budget to tear out ceiling tiles though or to hire an electrician so it was best to leave part of the hall in darkness. The wiring had been implemented thirty years ago when the school stopped being for natives and became an academy for gifted low income children. </p><p> Putting the electrical issue aside, Kenny began the clean up of the mess hall. The students had just had lunch and they would be out of class in about an hour for the end of the day. Mashed potatoes and chicken in broth had been today’s lunch and grey clumps of potato were splattered on the floor from messy eaters and clumsy students who had probably dropped their trays. It was the sort of mess best dealt with using a mop rather than a broom. He sighed as he tried to swab away the food from the scratched tiles. At least they had sense enough to use tiles in the food area, a wooden floor would be awful to clean.</p><p> 'Why haven’t you put a new bulb in?' Kenny turned to find Principal Victoria at the doorway.</p><p> 'I think it’s something to do with the circuits,' he mumbled.</p><p> She hummed, looking at the empty fixture before pushing her glasses further up her nose, 'How would we fix that?'</p><p> 'Tear off the ceiling tiles.'</p><p> 'Okay, well, I need you to fix the faucet in dorm 3B. Someone got sick drinking from it.'</p><p> 'I’ll get right to it.'</p><p> 'Actually, I think it’s best that you fix a clogged toilet in the west corridor upstairs. Henrietta Biggle slipped and hit her head.'</p><p> 'Yes, ma’am.'</p><p> The room was silent again, save for the sound of the mop sloshing around. Principal Victoria left without a goodbye, the sound of her sensible, low heeled shoes becoming fainter and fainter. Something was always broken in the school. Wiring and plumbing required maintenance beyond the scope of Kenny and his predecessor. More so, it was beyond what the school could afford to deal with. The school had always been stingy when it came to fixing things or maintaining them when they could use the money to put up students, get textbooks or hire more teachers. However, the crash had changed things. As a charity school, they relied on donors who had all but disappeared since even rich folk like the Donovans were struggling to keep their pantries full. </p><p> Kenny headed back to his shack to fetch a clean mop and a plunger. On his bed was a pulp magazine with an exciting science fiction story about “Amazonian Martians”. At home, his dad and brother had always taken care to keep the wrappers on their own books. The reason for this was that his mother always hit the roof about Karen seeing the “vulgar covers” to which she objected to her little girl seeing. The pulp on the bed had illustrations of curvaceous alien women surrounding a burly male astronaut. The conceit behind these stories was always corny but they were cheap and full of stuff that was good for getting off to so Kenny didn’t care about how stupid they were.</p><p> Bebe had borrowed one of them from him once. She was curious about them, for the most part. When she finished it- Kenny couldn’t remember which one she had read-, she told him that it was some of the worst prose she’d ever come across.</p><p>
  <em>  'People don’t read them for the prose,' He’d informed her and she just shook her head. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>  'You really find that stuff appealing? It’s nothing like how sex actually is. I would understand if you were a virgin or something and didn’t know any better but this stuff is laughable.'</em>
</p><p>
  <em>  'It’s not about realism. No one wants to read about the real thing, the awkward small talk and the fumbling.'</em>
</p><p>
  <em>  'I would,' she argued, 'I mean, there’s no connection. It’s almost clinical but full of such florid language. I counted, they said “bosoms” five times on one page.'</em>
</p><hr/><p> After a long day of work, Kenny popped into the mess hall to get his food before taking it back to his shack. He was welcome to eat with everyone but he preferred not to. He would wait to make sure Karen showed up and had someone to sit with and then leave. This evening she was with Bebe and her friends and seemed happy enough with this arrangement so Kenny grabbed his plate and rushed back to his living quarters. The sun had already started to set and stars were speckling the sky over the shadows of the surrounding mountains.</p><p> Back inside, he lit his oil lantern and settled down on his bed with the plate on his lap: spaghetti with white sauce and carrots. He also had a carton of milk to go with it. The milk was a little warm and curdled but it helped wash down the spaghetti which wanted to stick to his throat as he ate. After he finished, he considered having a smoke or playing solitaire but neither felt like something he would particularly like to do.</p><p> He rubbed at his eyes as he thought back to unclogging the toilet earlier on. It had been full of thick clumps of black hair. The only thing he could think was that one or a few girls cut their hair and tried to flush it away. Usually clogs were caused by Cartman’s chronic overeating or people trying to flush contraband items away because they were afraid of being caught with them. One such occurrence had been a stash of reefer in a bag which was a brilliant find.</p><p> He figured he would spend another cold and lonely night getting off to pin ups or pulp instead of actually going out and having fun like everyone else his age. They were probably having dates at the pharmacy or seeing a picture, perhaps getting a ride to North Park so they could listen to a swing band. A party could even be in full swing right now and Kenny would be none the wiser since he had no chance of being invited to one. Most everyone was cordial with him but no one was particularly close to him. He and Stan Marsh had been friends during elementary school but then he started at Park County and Kenny stayed home looking for work.</p><p> Then, when his father had crushed his leg down the mines no one ever wanted to come around. His dad would drink himself to violence and throw glass bottles wherever he pleased. He didn’t know how the fateful meeting between his father and the Stolski family occurred but after that his father began bootlegging in their bathroom for the mob. At first it wasn’t so bad but then the gangsters decided that their home was a fun place to play cards and drink away from the scrutiny of their wives. He realised one night when a fight broke out over someone’s alleged cheating during a game over poker that he needed to get his sister out of that house.</p><p> A few months later, when he had just turned fifteen, he managed to steal the caretaking job he currently held out from under the poor old man that had once lived in the shack he now called home. That old man had worked for Park County for nearly two decades. Kenny had noticed that the man started walking with a stoop and his hands had become shaky. Everyone knew that the school would have to let him go eventually but Kenny felt like offering to take the job for a quarter of what he had been paid in exchange for giving his sister board at the school really put the nail in his coffin. Kenny was already going to hell, he might as well add this to his wrap sheet if it meant his sister was safe.</p><p> Kenny fell asleep thinking of these things. His dreams were stressful, full of gunshots, mines collapsing and the ominous cross outside. His night was completely restless.</p><hr/><p>It was early in the morning when Kenny got up, hoping to fix the faucet before any of the sleep students got up to use the washroom. He made sure to avoid the squeaking floorboards and to put his toolkit down as lightly as possible. He made sure the door to the washroom was wide open so that anyone who did want to come in would see him at work and not barge in with their dick out. This had happened enough times for Kenny to learn his lesson. He examined the metal pipe in his hand. It was full of a bizarre black substance that he couldn’t wash out with any of the detergents he had. He tried to scratch it off with his chisel but all that did was ruin the chisel. There was a strong temptation to touch it with his bare fingers but he was almost certain it was going to stain and then be equally impossible to remove.</p><p> 'What’re you doing?'</p><p> Kenny nearly dropped the pipe but caught it before it hit the floor and woke everyone else up. Looking to the door, he saw a boy with porcelain skin and constellations of freckles all over his body, visible through the collar of his loose silk shirt and hiding under the pair of shorts he wore. His face was framed by orange curls. Kenny had never seen anything like them before. His mother was a redhead but her  hair was a very different shade, closer to auburn. The boy’s hair was a burning orange flame and wispy like a cumulus cloud.</p><p> 'Fixing the sink.'</p><p> 'Ah,' the boy said, yawning before dropping beside Kenny, long legs folded beneath himself 'Why?'</p><p> 'Because it’s broken.'</p><p> 'I get that. Why are<em> you</em> fixing it?'</p><p> 'I’m the caretaker.'</p><p> The boy looked taken aback, pine needle green eyes wide.</p><p> 'How old are you?'</p><p> 'I’m sixteen.'</p><p> 'Me too,' the boy paused to yawn again. 'I’m Kyle.'</p><p> 'Kenny.'</p><p> This close, he found himself taking in Kyle’s face. He had an elegant, aquiline nose and full pink lips. His long eyelashes, the same colour as his hair, swept over his high cheekbones when he blinked. He reminded Kenny of a Greek statue or an illustration of a prince from a book of fairy tales Karen had liked to bring home from the library every weekend when she was five.</p><p> 'You from the city? You don’t sound like you’re from around here.'</p><p> He hummed in acknowledgement, 'I guess you’re local then.'</p><p> 'Yup,' Kenny popped the “p.” 'You got any clue what this stuff is?'</p><p> Kyle squinted at stuff inside the pipe, wrinkling his nose a bit, freckles hiding in the creased skin.</p><p> 'This is going to sound stupid but I think it’s ectoplasm.'</p><p> 'I’m sorry, what?'</p><p> 'Have you ever heard of occultism? Well, I had a lecturer at my old school who had studied it when people thought it was going to be a serious science. Ectoplasm is a substance left behind when a spirit possesses something that they then use to manifest a physical body afterward.'</p><p> 'That does sound stupid.'</p><p> Kyle laughed sleepily.</p><p> 'I’ll let you get back to work.'</p><p> The boy got up and headed out of the dorms, probably to go use a neighbouring washroom. Kenny glared at the gunk in the pipe, feeling his face burning up and the lingering thought that Kyle smelled like cloves and his skin looked soft.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Oh by the way, should I tag minor/past pairings? Like, Kenny has a friends with benefits relationship with Bebe and Kyle had a complicated thing going on with Christophe before he moved, should I tag those? I don't want to clog other ships with minor pairing tags? Also there's going to be a sapphic subplot with Wendy and Bebe because I am a lesbean</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Paramours</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hi, just a quick warning that there is a scene that could be seen as dub con in here. It's sort of complicated to explain but be wary of that.  This chapter is sooo dark academia inspired lol</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Kyle had his first kiss when he was thirteen. It was at a family friend’s son’s bar mitzvah and initiated by a girl called Lizzie who Kyle had noticed staring at him in the synagogue more times than he could count. She came up to him and asked if they could talk outside. Lizzie’s hair was light brown and she had clearly fought with her mother over getting it bobbed since it sat at an awkward shoulder length that seemed the result of a compromise. Her teeth were crooked in places. Her dress hung on her frame awkwardly but in a way that was sort of fashionable with the waistband of the dress at her hips and it seemed too big for her, making her look even slimmer than she was. She was taller than Kyle which he hadn’t expected since she seemed so little from a distance because she was always slouching.</p><p> 'I really like you,' she said, fiddling with the beads on her dress when she spoke and looked mostly at her feet, “Um, I was hoping you might want to be my boyfriend.”</p><p> She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear as she said that and dared a look at his face. Kyle had expected that Lizzie had dragged him out for this very reason but he had been certain that she was going to chicken out and say something else.</p><p> 'Alright,' he said. She seemed like a sweet girl and he hadn’t expected her to be able to actually confess to him. It wasn’t normal for girls to make the first move either so he felt like getting to know her better. Lizzie grinned at the response and surged forward to give him a quick peck on the lips which left Kyle feeling dazed. They went on a few dates to the pictures, always escorted by Lizzie’s father who seemed incredibly stern about the whole thing and Kyle enjoyed her company to some extent. She wasn’t the most interesting person he had ever met but she didn’t get on his nerves, either. He found her cute too. He liked that her teeth were crooked and he liked to run his tongue over them when they kissed, he liked that she was so forward about things too.</p><p> It wasn’t so long after Kyle’s fourteenth birthday that Lizzie suggested they have sex which had taken him off guard. He had thought about it a few times but the reality didn’t live up to the fantasy. He thought that she might have been as straightforward as she usually was when they were alone but instead she became passive and simpering during the event. He spent most of it trying to make sure she was actually alright and instead of answering she gave overdramatic moans of supposed pleasure that felt painfully fake. He could tell she’d gone and asked some girls about the best thing to do when having sex with a boy. She was probably afraid that she wouldn’t be very good. She wasn’t. Kyle couldn’t finish which wasn’t much of a problem since they were worried she might get pregnant anyway.</p><p> After that things went downhill and he knew Lizzie felt it. She kept offering to have sex and Kyle felt stupid saying no but he just didn’t think he’d be able to get it up for her after the first time. They broke up and he felt like dirt. It made him the kind of guy that women warned their daughters about, that took girls’ virginity and then ditched them. He had a few silly flings with girls here and there. They were often disappointing though since the girls were rarely active participants and he found he only liked sex when his partner was definitely enjoying it. As such he had no proper relationships until he was recently turned fifteen and started at Wells Academy for Excellence, an all boy’s school in the city.</p><p> He had been paired with a French student, Christophe, in his Latin classes since they were both best in the class. They’d been asked to work together to translate some of Ovid’s works. Christophe told Kyle to come to his boarding house to work on the translation together and, after a few visits, he struck up a conversation about Ancient Greece.</p><p> 'Have you read the Iliad?' He asked. Christophe’s room was rather dingy, the lighting permanently low due to his insistence on keeping the curtains closed and doing their work by candlelight. They were sitting on his bed, Kyle had his shoes off and was stretching his legs out in front of him, feeling a cramp in his knee from huddling up against a small desk. At this moment they were taking a break from their project.</p><p> 'Of course I have,' Kyle responded with irritation. Christophe laughed.</p><p> 'So you know of Achilles and Patroclus?'</p><p> 'Yes, they were brothers in arms. Achilles requested that their ashes were mixed.'</p><p> 'They were more than brothers in arms,' Christophe began, giving Kyle a look he gave often which made Kyle feel belittled and furious, 'They were an example of pederasty. Patroclus was the erastes and Achilles the eromenos. Some scholars use the terms lover and beloved.'</p><p> At this point, Christophe was leaning into Kyle’s personal space, placing his hand on his thigh. Kyle’s heartbeat sped up and he felt heat crawl all over his body and burst out of his face.</p><p> 'What does that mean?'</p><p> 'It means, Kyle, that they had sex with each other,' his voice was a whisper at that point and he then announced it was best to teach Kyle about this sort of thing through demonstration, Kyle would be the eromenos and Christophe the erastes. Kyle was shocked to find out just how much he enjoyed it, even if it did hurt at first. They did it quite often and Christophe usually tried to kiss Kyle during these “moments of passion” but he preferred to turn away from them. He didn’t really enjoy kissing Christophe that much because it was something people in love did and this was something between friends. Kyle had read some letters between male academics and found that this sort of thing wasn’t uncommon amongst them, a way of bonding and letting out sexual frustration without anyone getting pregnant. </p><p> At least, that’s how Kyle saw it. One evening, as Christophe was working his fingers inside Kyle, he tried to capture his mouth in another kiss and Kyle, as usual, avoided it. At this Christophe grunted, bending his fingers harshly and pushing him down. Kyle gasped, at first thinking that Christophe was just more eager than usual.</p><p> 'Why do you always do that?' He growled.</p><p> 'Do what?' Kyle panted.</p><p> 'You won’t let me kiss you. You’re acting like a whore.'</p><p> 'Fuck off.'</p><p> 'Then let me kiss you.'</p><p> 'No, that’s for lovers, you idiot.'</p><p> 'We are lovers.'</p><p> At this Kyle pulled back, Christophe let him, sliding his fingers out.</p><p> 'No we aren’t. That’s something between a man and a woman, Christophe. This is just for fun.'</p><p> 'How can you say that? Our bond goes much deeper than that. I’ve shared my soul with you. You are mine, you belong to me.'</p><p> At this point Kyle backed himself against the wall trying to put distance between himself and the French boy.</p><p> 'I’m sorry if you got the wrong idea...' Kyle didn’t know what to say.</p><p> 'Don’t,' Christophe held Kyle by the shoulders, gripping bruising him, 'You must know what we share. Don’t lie to yourself. Don’t lie to me.'</p><p> 'I don’t know what you’re talking about. Let go of me.'</p><p> 'I love you. I know you feel the same way.'</p><p> Christophe surged forward to steal a kiss and Kyle for a moment let him as he felt the tears falling against his cheeks. He didn’t know why he let him but his heart ached for the boy above. The kiss made him feel uncomfortable. It was searing and passionate and Kyle let himself be much like Lizzie had been during their first time, totally passive. He allowed Christophe to stick his tongue in his mouth, to thrust into him and cum inside, to suck on his neck and play with his nipples, to claw him closer and closer. Kyle felt totally out of his depth and by the end of it he had never been so confused in his life. Did he love Christophe or did he love the way he made him feel? He had never felt so desirable as he did in those last few weeks they spent together. Before that Christophe had been like an exacting teacher, lecturing and instructing him. Handing him book after book to read in order to improve his mind.</p><p> In those last few weeks, Christophe clung to him. He called him beautiful, used endearing French pet names, stroked his cheek and gazed at him when they lay in bed together. He professed his love nigh on a million times and played with his hair. He kissed him whenever he got the chance. It was like he knew that Kyle had to go. Outside of feeling adored, he felt smothered and he knew he had to get out from under Christophe’s gaze. He told their teacher that he thought it best that he and Christophe work with other students. That they had learnt everything they could from each other.</p><hr/><p>The weekend passed without incident, Kyle became more acquainted with the school and his roommates, in particular Butters, Tweek and Pete. There were other boys in the room but none of them had made any kind of attempt to be friendly. In Pete’s case, he had simply been interested in finding out if Kyle happened to have any cigarettes on him. Kyle had to inform him he’d quit. Butter’s had the exact sort of naïveté Kyle had expected of people out here in the country. He was the boy who got sick from drinking the dirty water. He was very friendly, stuttering and awkward. The exact sort to be scandalised by someone saying damn.</p><p> Tweek had neurotically approached Kyle whilst he slept, worried that he was some sort of axe murderer or demon hiding in their dorm room. He’d actually jumped back and screeched “Vampire” when Kyle sat up, probably because he was pale. Tweek made sleeping very difficult because he was constantly twitching and making noises. He figured he would get used to it eventually, since everyone else was able to drift off. It wasn’t as though the city was a blissful beacon of quiet. The Broflovskis had lived in an apartment above a barber shop on a busy street full of plenty of other shops and clubs. There had been many nights where Kyle found his attention drawn away from his homework by the screeching of drunken men preparing to brawl. Other times, there was the shrill sound of tires, the sputtering of motors and taxi cabs honking away during rush hour. Getting used to Tweek Tweak’s muttering and exclamations wouldn’t be too difficult.</p><p> On Sunday morning, Kyle looked out the window, wondering if he would see the caretaker having a smoke or plowing snow. He was nowhere to be seen though so Kyle quickly dressed, choosing a grey linen shirt, a smart jacket and a pair of green straight legged trousers that sat high on his waist. He was glad to be able to brush his teeth in the sink instead of doing it over the bathtub and he gave his face a quick clean with some warm water before patting it dry with a threadbare towel.</p><p> The rest of the boarding students were down in the mess hall eating plain porridge which was the least objectionable thing he had been served since he arrived even if it was the only thing they ever served for breakfast. It was warming in the chill weather and its plain taste made it easy to finish. Kyle noticed that Kenny was eating in the mess hall this morning; sat next to a little girl with tawny hair and hazel eyes. The resemblance was clear. They had to be related somehow.</p><p> Having already finished his food, he allowed himself the indulgence of taking in Kenny’s features. His hair was straw blonde and the first thing you notice due to its permanently disheveled nature. The girl next to him had similarly messy hair. It was in simple braids that had been made by inexpert hands as bits of her hair stuck out from them. Kyle had noticed on the morning he met Kenny that the boy had big brown eyes that reminded him of his cousin’s golden retriever. In fact, his hair was almost the same colour as the dog’s fur. Apart from that he had a strong, broad jaw and his nose was somewhat snubbed which softened the rugged aspect of the rest of his face and gave him a look of boyish handsomeness.</p><p> Kyle had started looking at men this way after he and Christophe first became intimate. He had always found aspects of girls that he liked but soon found that after a good look at most men, he would find something that appealed to him. He thought that, objectively, someone like Stan would be considered better looking, he had that all American look to him that Hollywood always chased after in their leading men but Kyle preferred Kenny with his tall frame and kind eyes.</p><p> He had never really found himself interested in people that looked too perfect. The things he liked best about Lizzie were the things girls teased her about at school. Kyle had found Christophe’s untamed hair and dark circles charming. He liked the way his fingers were stained from chain smoking and the scar on his nose. The parts of someone that you would come to adore or only noticed after you had been intimate with them were the ones he liked best. So far, Kyle enjoyed looking at Kenny but he was yet to uncover any such hidden features that he would find himself cherishing. He blushed at the thought. </p><p> There was no reason to be thinking about the other boy that way and it was probably better he found a girl to turn his attention to but his mind was stuck on Kenny. Kenny who was the same age as them but worked at the school instead of attending it, who seemed so much older than sixteen in the way he carried himself. Kenny who had studied Kyle’s face and body with such care when they first met. Kyle knew that he had been doing it, could feel his eyes roaming along him with interest and he couldn’t help but enjoy the feeling. </p><p> It was at that moment, as Kyle picked up his bowl to take to the kitchen staff that he decided he wanted Kenny to fuck him the same way Christophe had fucked him. He didn’t see it happening, especially if it was solely up to the blond. He had probably never thought about being with a man, much less view the abstract of the act with anything other than disdain. Kyle felt that Kenny was attracted to him though, it was an in your blood type of feeling. He had been looking at Kyle’s lips almost non-stop when they met. Kyle wondered about what it would like for him to be the one pursuing. He wouldn’t say that there was much pursuit in a one night stand with a girl he met at a music hall. Lizzie hadn’t pursued him so much as she had asked but with Christophe, retrospectively, he had been chasing Kyle. He had set things in motion to warm him up and Kyle supposed that this was how it was between men, being too open about those things wasn’t exactly safe. He had to put the idea of acting on this sort of attraction out of his mind.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Gathering</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>In the last chapter I accidentally wrote Monday morning and not Sunday so pls excuse my dumbassery. I;ve been watching Bly Manor so I'll try and up the horror ante soon when I feel like I've done enough to establish everything.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Sunday’s were Kenny’s day off and he spent them with his family. He had special permission from Principal Victoria to take his sister along to their family home after morning mass to have lunch. These family meals were sometimes a fraught affair, such as the time his father had killed a rabbit in the woods and brought it in with a celebratory air. Karen had started crying at the sight of the fluffy creature being held up by its hind legs with blood marring its ash brown fur. That had been quite an argument, his father claiming Karen thought she was above them and his mother crying as she tried to remind him that they were only together so rarely. Her words had been slurred from alcohol.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> ‘An’ whose fault is that?’ his father had roared, jabbing a finger towards Kenny, ‘We got plenty money from the Stolskis but the boy wants ‘er to go to school. Fer what? She’s a woman, she don’t need no education.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Kenny generally stayed silent during family arguments such as this. During this one the best he could do was squeeze Karen’s hand and pat her shoulder. Kevin, their brother, had also learnt that it was best to let their parents get all the screaming and shouting out of their system. Kevin had a different approach though, he snored loudly on the couch, his face still covered in black stains and smudges from the mines. It was difficult to tell whether Kevin was feigning sleep or not. They had all grown up in this chaotic home and as a result tried to sleep through worse fights.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Kevin wanted to be an honest man, just like Kenny, but he wasn’t able to get himself a job that gave him lodging and so, more often than not, he was responsible for helping their father with producing the alcohol he sold to the mob. That was all on top of going into caves with a pickaxe everyday to search for coal. He had turned eighteen not too long after the stock market crash so he had no excuse not to get a job down the mines. Kenny was lucky to be too young for that kind of work.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> This afternoon, however, there was a whole cooked chicken and vegetables, along with a few other accoutrements, set out on the table. The smell alone made Kenny’s stomach rumble and Karen looked pleased to be eating something other than slop from the school kitchen. Their mother greeted them at the door, smiling brightly, and taking their coats. The snow on Kenny’s parka was melting into the fur and leaving wet patches so Carol put it near the fire in the hopes that it might dry.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> ‘Dig in,’ their father announced with a grin, settling into his seat at the head of the crowded table. Their kitchen served both as a dining room and a sitting room. There should have been a radio in there, if their father knew how to save the money he made by working with the mob and then they could be even more like a normal family, listening to the radio shows and music after they ate. They had never been the type to talk with one another at length. Their mother loved them dearly and she showed them affection but, overall, they didn’t tend to talk. The McCormick children had always been rather quiet, a direct contrast to their parents.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> ‘The food’s great,’ Kenny said between bites and his mother beamed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> ‘Your pa managed to make some extra money on Friday so we thought we’d make a nice meal for y’all.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span> ‘Yeah, managed to swindle some idiot city boy outta all his money,’ their father laughed before taking a large swig of alcohol kept in a carafe. The stuff was vicious and almost no one drank it plain except for Kenny’s mother and father.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> There was a moment of silence before Stuart's eyes brightened.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> ‘He said he was going t’your school, Karen. The hell is some pampered city boy going to your school for?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span> ‘I don’t know.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span> ‘A lot of people fell on hard times, pa,’ Kevin said, his plate almost empty already, ‘I dunno what his family does but maybe they lost their jobs.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span> The conversation died away. Kenny knew they were talking about Kyle, the boy with the red hair and mesmerising face. He felt embarrassed that his father had swindled the boy out of his money even if he did probably have enough to spare. That morning, he noticed the redhead staring at him from across the mess hall. He felt as though he was being flayed alive by his green eyes as they peered right through him, under his skin, and deep into the marrow of his bones. Under his scrutiny, Kenny felt like a cadaver in a medical school being carefully assessed and taken apart, layer by layer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Kenny knew he was an incongruity at the school. He worked at the school and lived like an adult despite being the same age as a junior student. In fact, he had gone to school with many of Kyle’s classmates. He remembered elementary school and the whole of them being crammed into that schoolroom with one teacher between all of them. He would play with the other boys during recess, most often Stan and Cartman, and had considered them all friends. Of course, they all left elementary school eventually. At the time, Stan had been miserable because Wendy went to a fancy school in North Park, little did they know she’d have to come home three years later since her father couldn’t afford it anymore.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Once they had all graduated elementary school, Kenny was relegated to miserable loneliness in his home with only his siblings for company. This was after their father’s accident but before he had gotten involved with the Stolskis so at the time they didn’t have  two cents to rub together. They ate what was free, like wildflowers and any animals their dad could catch and kill. The only thing they had to keep a fire going was twigs scavenged from the forest floor. Despite the fact that Kenny went to bed hungry and cold, he had preferred this to how things were now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> His home back then was at the very least safe. He didn’t have to worry about violent men with guns in his home, the police busting down the door or the bathroom exploding from a misstep while his father made moonshine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> The youngest siblings soon bid their farewells before setting off back to the school. Their mother hugged them tightly, their brother gave a wave and their father said absolutely nothing. It wasn’t snowing but the ground was icy and crunched beneath their snow boots. Karen lifted her flour sack skirt as she walked to keep it from getting wet. She had been embroidering simple yellow flowers in it when she had extra time in her needlework class. They were slowly migrating along the whole skirt instead of just bordering the hem.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Kenny usually held Karen’s hand when they walked here so he could keep her steady on the ice but she had begun to pull her hand away recently, arguing that she wasn’t a child anymore. Kenny still saw a little girl when he looked at his sister though, despite them only being two years apart in age. Kenny supposed she looked younger than most girls because she was rake thin and short from a lack of food when she was growing up. She also still wore much of the same clothing she had as a child.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> When they reached the school, Kenny fished his keys out of his pocket and unlocked the immense steel gates. He placed a small kiss on Karen’s head and watched her head inside to the fractionally warmer domain within Park County School’s stone walls. Kenny, on the other hand, was sequestered to his little shack with nothing more than a small coal heater to keep him warm. He had made a patchwork of blankets using ragged clothing from lost property that had lost its usefulness as apparel and thus wouldn’t be missed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He decided he would spend his day off sleeping since he could combat boredom by dreaming. He hoped this would also give him some extra energy for the long week ahead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> As he began to drift off, he thought of the new boy, Kyle. He was a late arrival to the school since it was already October, damn near November, and he was from the city. He must’ve been well to do at one point in his life and Kenny felt a tad irritated by it. He hadn’t been so sore over the other students that had once been well off but most of them were never exceptionally well off. He also never had ill feelings for Token Black or his family despite them being downright rich but that was probably because Mr Black had provided Kenny with work when no one else had.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He supposed that the problem with Kyle was that he still dressed like he was a wealthy city boy when he so clearly wasn’t one any longer. When he talked, he almost seemed to be bragging about the cultural splendour he had once experienced as well. His science teacher who had been some sort of fancy “occultist” and the stacks of books he kept with him. Kenny hadn’t touched Kyle’s hands but he couldn’t make out calluses on them. Nothing about the boy was work roughened, his skin looked as soft as his orange curls.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> That was the other issue, Kenny had seen plenty of boys he found good looking, but Kyle was objectively the best-looking boy he had ever seen. He not only was smart, cultured and well to do but gorgeous as well. It was infuriating. Then there was the guilt that came with these negative feelings because Kyle hadn’t treated him like mud on the sole of his shoe when he met, even when he found out that he was just the help. He had continued to talk and be friendly so he couldn’t help but foster a positive feeling towards him. All of his previous friends looked embarrassed to be seen with him and perhaps Kyle would begin to act like this as he became more acquainted with the town and his peers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Kenny felt that if Kyle hadn’t been so, for lack of a better word, attractive he would have simply let him out of his mind by now. He probably would have hardly noticed him in the first place but instead he thought about him a little too much. He was curious about just how much of his body was covered in freckles and if he used fancy soap or naturally smelled so good. He usually only got this in his head about pretty girls and even then it was a fleeting fancy that he quickly lost interest in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> It had only been a day though and, perhaps, Kenny would soon find himself disinterested in Kyle. Especially once the boy inevitably started to treat him with the same level of disdain as everyone else did and he would be nothing more than some haughty rich boy who wasn’t even rich anymore. At this point, it was difficult to decide whether Kyle would make friends or not. When Kenny saw him, he was alone in the mess hall but there were so few students that boarded that it might make sense that there was no one for him to sit with. Not to mention, most of the boarding students were a certain brand of strange or neurotic.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Of all the boarders he could think of Clyde and his own sister were the only normal children he could think of off the top of his head. Tweek Tweak, for example, was probably better suited to an asylum after his cocaine peddling parents were put into jail. Butters was far too innocent to be considered normal, not to mention that fact he was clearly a nelly. Kenny was pretty sure he would cry if someone showed him a fully nude pin up. Henrietta claimed to be a psychic and dressed like a nineteenth century widow. Then there was Cartman.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Cartman had been boarding since his mother got a job at the school. The boy had, somehow, managed to become a prefect despite the fact he was a complete jackass who spent most of his time trying to find a way to bully, control or manipulate someone. Unfortunately, Cartman was an immature blimp* who was painfully inept at getting anyone who wasn’t even more immature as himself to go along with a thing he says. As a result, his only friend was Butters.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> It was strange that he really had considered Cartman and Stan to be his closest friends because they were the ones he played with the most often. It wasn’t as though he didn’t get along with Craig but Craig was a withdrawn and serious boy who preferred to play with the rats he managed to tame behind the school than with other children. At the age he was then, he also didn’t tend to play much with girls who were often revolted by the boys’ rough housing in mud. Then there was Jimmy whose crutches wholly excluded him from the sort of games they tended to play. He usually sat inside playing a board game or reading a joke book.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Kenny supposed that Cartman was one of his closest friends through nothing more than a process of elimination. Cartman had a near constant barrage of insults for Kenny at that age, all regarding his poverty stricken family, but he insulted Stan for being a “sissy” just as much. Moreover, Kenny and Stan had always made fun of Cartman right back for being fat, the fact he was an illegitimate bastard and his mother working in a cathouse. Both boys had been blind to Cartman’s crueler streak, such as his feeding Craig’s rats poison pellets and stealing Jimmy’s crutches. Kenny had remembered thinking those things were funny and Stan had only objected to rats because he got teary eyed when something bad happened to an animal.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Nowadays, no one felt particularly willing to put up with Cartman’s crap. His insults didn’t endear him to anyone, everyone knew he was a loathsome brat and were suspicious as to how he managed to maintain his weight when everyone else lived off of scraps and coffee. As a result, the boy focused on whatever target he could find or he would create one. If he could get Tweek alone he would fill the boy’s head with all sorts of stories to wind him up and make him more neurotic. He dated Heidi Turner on and off and was consistently awful to her when they were together. Allegedly, he had tripped Kevin Stoley down a set of stairs as well. Butters was less a target of Cartman’s bullying and more of an oblivious lackey. Butters was painfully easy to manipulate and no one else was able to put up with his corrosively cheerful personality to bother manipulating him away from Cartman.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Kenny wondered how the new boy would factor into Cartman’s web of bullying. Whether Cartman would leave him alone, attempt to recruit him or try to give him a hard time. It would depend on Kyle for the most part, how he reacted to the other boy. Kenny hoped for the boy’s sake that he would react to the boy with indifference. Surely someone from the city was too savvy to end up as Cartman’s goon. Kenny ultimately told himself that no matter what happened, he wouldn’t get involved. Kyle wasn’t his responsibility after all.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>*blimp is a 30's term for fat person.<br/>Additionally, I figured that since the prohibition was still taking place in 1932 it would make sense that Kenny's parents were in on the business since it was probably that times equivalent of making meth due to how dangerous it. Also, taking too much cocaine has similar affects to meth so I figured Tweek's parents would have been selling that instead given the prominence of cocaine as a drug at the time.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Unaccustomed</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Happy Halloween! I'm hoping to post a chapter everyday this week leading up to Halloween! This chapter ended up being posted a lot later in the day than I wanted but life comes at ya fast sometimes and I ended up adding almost a thousand words too it because I wanted more horror stuff in this chapter and it wasn;t there in the first draft! Enjoy</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Kyle was assigned to Mr Garrison for his homeroom teacher. At Park County, a homeroom teacher was someone who taught everything but electives and physical education. The boys and girls were in separate classes so Kyle almost felt at home in this classroom, even if it was stuffed to the brim with students of varying ages. At Wells, they had a different teacher for every subject and small classes segregated by age with a few younger students here and there who were in advanced placements. Kyle recognised a few of his classmates. Stan, the boy who had shown him to his room, was sitting in the middle next to a broad shouldered brunet that Kyle had seen around campus over the weekend. Tweek sat behind them with a tall black haired boy next to him. The classroom seemed to be overflowing with no empty space that might fit a new student.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Can I help you?” the balding teacher asked with palpable distaste.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I’m new,” Kyle began as he was stared down by his teacher and peers, “I can’t find a desk.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Mr Garrison set his jaw, hard eyes scanning the room before jabbing a finger towards the very back of the room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Over there, by the window.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Kyle almost did a double take when he saw the desk. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t noticed it before. It was as though it had some sort of gravity that was all its own. Unlike the rest of the seats that were nearly pressed up against one another, this one was surrounded by empty space, not a lot but as much as could be managed in a room this small and this full. It was as if the other chairs had tried their best to move away from it. When Kyle got to his new seat he began to believe this was the case. There were long gashes on the surface of it. It looked as though someone had used it as a make-do shield against an angry mountain lion. The previous occupant had also carved eyes between the jagged valleys so that no inch of the desk was left unmarred. Kyle looked up as he settled in the chair to notice that several people were staring at him. Tweek was covering his face and occasionally peeking through his fingers. Kyle rolled his eyes and pulled out his exercise book.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> They began the morning with rudimentary mathematics that Kyle had covered at Wells when he was thirteen. A series of exercises were written on the chalkboard for different age groups to complete. Kyle completed his assigned problems rather quickly so he moved onto the next age groups work, finishing that with ease as well. Kyle supposed that it perhaps served as a refresher on some of the mathematics he hadn’t covered in a long while but he was concerned that he would forget some of the more complicated mathematics he’d studied in Wells. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Not that mathematics had ever been a particular passion of Kyle’s but many universities had required courses in it and put equations on their entrance exams so he felt it was best to be prepared. He had been aiming to study classics whilst perfecting his Latin so that he could work in the academic field of translations. For the same reason, he wanted to learn Attic Greek or one of the many dialects of ancient Greek since anything from Rome was really just a derivative of the Greek empire. Not to mention Kyle and his family had a particular reason to dislike the Roman empire.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> The class dragged on until twelve when they had their lunch period which would then be followed by their elective of the day. Kyle had never taken that much notice of his mother’s cooking, he had simply eaten what she served and then returned to his studies or left to spend the evening at a speakeasy or a jazz club. However, after only a few days of non-kosher abominations such as a “soup” that merely consisted of watered down broth, cut up hotdogs and a random assortment of vegetable trimmings, Kyle knew he would never take his mother’s food for granted again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>  Today’s offerings were boiled cabbage with meagre cuts of chicken with a gelatinous, grey roux poured over it. It was served with a side of mashed potatoes and a carton of milk. Kyle’s hopes that the meal would be more bland than offensive were dashed as he cut into the tough pieces of chicken and found them a touch too pink to be wholly safe for human consumption and instead focused on the dry and flavourless mashed potatoes. They were not warm but at least they weren’t cold. Most students tore into their food ferociously but a particular group of girls focused only on their cabbage and potato, electing to heap their meat on the littlest member’s plate. She was the same girl who had sat with Kenny yesterday morning. The tawny haired girl ate with even greater gusto than the other students. Her cheeks were hollow and she had some of the tiniest wrists Kyle had ever seen. He wondered if the girl might have been older than she looked, her stature owing to malnourishment and not age.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  At the centre of the table was a blonde girl with immaculate curls pinned into a bob and a graceful stream of finger waves framing the right side of her face. Her lips were stained a muted red with smudges around the edges and she held a glossy magazine in one hand with her chin firmly resting upon the other. She spoke without any sort of animation but occasionally her brown eyes would dart between the members of her rapt audience, lingering on a girl with shoulder length black hair. The dark haired girl was the only blatantly disinterested member of the party. She wore a collared plaid shirt that could easily be mistaken as menswear and a brown skirt that fell to her mid calf. She was the only girl at the table who wore her hair unstyled, letting it hang pin straight above her shoulders. She had analytical grey eyes which occasionally caught the blonde’s stare, when this happened she would grin before shaking her head and returning to her plate. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Hey, do you want to sit with us?” Kyle’s eyes moved from the girls to see Stan Marsh giving him a small smile and gesturing to his own table. Kyle nodded, picked up his food and made his way over.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  “This is Kyle,” Stan announced to the table of boys who barely acknowledged him before continuing their conversation. Kyle recognised Tweek Tweak, of course, as well as the two boys that had been sitting with them in homeroom. Up close, Kyle noticed that the brown haired boy had a full face and bushy eyebrows. He had tried to style his hair but the pomade he used ended up making his hair look wet. The black haired boy was once again sat next to Tweek and when he acknowledged Stan he did so with narrowed eyes. There was another brunet that Kyle didn’t recognise. He was thin and narrow and had a vivid green lazy eye. He also had crutches that were currently leant against the table while he ate with an unsteady hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  “Kyle, this Clyde, we play football together,” Stan pointed to the broad shouldered boy who gave a wave, “Then there’s Jimmy, Craig and Tweek.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  He pointed to the boy with crutches, the black haired boy and then the twitchy blond.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  “Tweek and I share a dorm, it’s nice to meet you all, though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  “What accent is that?” Clyde asked with a mouth full of chicken.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  “I’m from the city.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  “I play football too, Stan,” said Craig whose voice was much more nasal than Kyle expected it to be.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>  “Yeah buh-buh-but you’re not guh-guh-good at it,” Jimmy quipped with a smile. Craig stuck his middle finger up in response.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “In Ancient Greece that was supposed to symbolise a penis,” Kyle said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “It means “fuck you” now.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Don’t mind Craig. He dislikes most people,” Stan said to Kyle in a stage whisper.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I only dislike you, jackass.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  Kyle laughed, covering his mouth with both hands. In all honesty, he hadn’t had friends in the city. Everyone at Wells was focused on their studies or they were insufferable wealthy WASPs that had nothing but disdain for a Jew on a scholarship. Christophe was truly the closest thing he had to a friend and, as a result, he had never been in a normal gathering amongst boys his own age. He caught on quickly that good natured teasing was the main form of communication between them all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Tweek seemed to be mostly exempt from this, however, perhaps because he was too neurotic to deal with that sort of thing. Kyle also was somewhat excluded from the exchanging of barbs since he was a new addition to the table. He was certain that Stan had invited him to sit with his friends out of pity which wasn’t a feeling he enjoyed but he appreciated the boy trying to be kind. Kyle had never minded being alone though. He had been mostly alone in the city and he hadn’t expected to make friends here. He had assumed he would continue his almost ghostlike existence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What’s your elective?” Stan asked around the mashed potato stuffed into his mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Latin.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What are you? A devout catholic?” Clyde laughed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Actually, I’m the opposite.” The table became quiet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I don’t get it? Are you an atheist?” Stan asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “No, I’m Jewish.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> The quietness continued.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I’ve never met a Jew before,” Craig said, barely looking up from his food. This flippant comment decreed a breaking of the sudden spell of muteness that had overcome the boys.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yeah, me either,” Stan added. Kyle scratched at his wrist a little. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Is that okay with you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What? Of course it is,” Clyde said hurriedly. The atmosphere felt a little off but conversation returned to normal. Kyle managed to swallow the pieces of chicken and then he downed the rest of his milk. Stan and Clyde were discussing football practice, which they had in lieu of an elective. Tweek continued twitching and making shrill sounds while Craig sat silently next to him. Jimmy chimed in every now and then with a joke or a pun. Kyle hoped that they were honest about being unbothered by his background.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> The food that had been rationed out amongst them was quickly depleted at the speed with which the boys ate. Kyle was the last to finish as he forced himself to eat, not wanting to be ungrateful or wasteful. The boys announced that they were going to play football in the courtyard and asked Kyle if he would like to join them. It seemed that the discomfort they held had mostly dissipated for now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I’ve never played football, actually.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Are you being serious?” Stan asked, observing Kyle the way one might an alien.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “My elementary school didn’t have a yard and when I went to Wells I was too busy trying to keep a scholarship to play sports.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “It makes sense with how scrawny you are,” Clyde responded, clapping Kyle on the back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “We’ll teach you how to play,” Stan added, “This’ll just be for fun anyway.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yeah, okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> The courtyard wasn’t particularly busy on this frosty October afternoon and the school grounds were rather spartan in their scarcity of life. On offer were scant pine trees and their dead needles that occasionally littered the iced over dirt. The courtyard at Wells had been grand and imposing, with archways along the corridors leading out to it, a marble fountain near the entrance and a fresh green lawn with white paint mapping out football yards. Beyond that there had been wildflowers grown for students taking botany classes to study with a green house intended for plants that needed a special climate. Kyle would see those students, knees in the grass as they inspected the stamens of a violet under a microscope with the warm sun shining over them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Kyle noted, as the boys sorted themselves into teams and ushered a few other boys into the game, that Jimmy stuck to the sidelines.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Aren’t you going to play?” Kyle asked but felt stupid as he watched the boy wobble on his crutches.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “No, I’m ref-ref-refer,” he paused to take in some air before finishing, “Refereeing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Kyle had been placed on Stan’s team and Clyde, Craig and Tweek were on the other. Kyle didn’t recognise any of the other boys on his own team. There was a short skirmish for the ball which was grabbed by Stan and tossed between players. Kyle was inclined to stay out of the way for the most part, though he caught the ball a couple of times. He didn’t really know what to do with it other than to pass it to his teammates while trying to avoid being tackled. He got knocked on his ass once, dirt staining the back of his shirt. He laughed as Stan helped him up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oi,” Kyle turned his head to see a furious, heavyset boy waddling towards them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What do you want, Cartman?” Craig asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Why wasn’t I invited?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Because no one likes you,” Craig responded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Fuck you, you little pansy. You’re all probably too scared that I’ll beat you all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Football is a team sport,” Kyle began, “If that were the case you would’ve been asked since both teams would want you on their side.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Who asked you anything, orphan Annie?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Cartman, lay off,” Clyde said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Don’t tell me what to do,” he snapped, narrowing in on Kyle, “Who are you anyway?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I’m Kyle Broflovski,” Kyle responded. Usually he would offer a handshake when introducing himself but the boy had been so unpleasant thus far that Kyle didn’t feel inclined to do so. The boy had brown hair that had been slicked down rather than back which meant it clung to his forehead. He was trying to grow a moustache as well but the hairs were thin and sparse meaning that they looked more like random pencil streaks. His eyes were a harsh grey colour, not like the light shade that belonged to the dark haired girl.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Don’t be fucking smart, who are you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I’m new here, from the city.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Why the fuck is your pasty polack ass at my school?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I’m not Polish. My great grandparents were born here in America.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Well you have a polack’s name so that makes you one.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Are you done with your little interrogation now? No one seems to want you here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> A lull fell over the scene; the other boys focused on themselves as they grew bored. Cartman studied Kyle for a moment before grinning broadly. His nostrils were flared out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You’re a goddamn kike, aren’t you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Kyle answered by connecting his fist with Cartman’s mouth. This caused the brunet to stumble backwards, grabbing at his face in pain. That caught the attention of the rest of the students, even a few girls came rushing out to see the commotion. The crowd grew rowdy from the sudden display of violence. Cartman tore his gloved palms away from his face, blood pooling between his lips and down his chin; a tooth was knocked loose. Like sharks, the sight of the reddened teeth only seem to attract more students.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Don’t you ever call me that again!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Cartman’s eyes looked shiny and his face was red. He was biting back tears, Kyle could sense it. Giving a look to the crowd, he straightened up and stepped towards Kyle again as if he were about to strike so Kyle kicked his shin causing him to stumble over. There were a few chuckles. Cartman was slightly taller than Kyle was but that didn’t matter now that the boy was on his ass looking up at the furious redhead. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> There was a stalemate. They had an entire crowd of people watching them which meant neither boy could back down without looking bad. Kyle knew Eric’s type. He was the sort that was terrified of being seen as a coward because he was one. Kyle couldn’t spare the other boy though. He had crossed the line and Kyle was only going to stop if he apologised or retreated.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Fuck this,” Cartman spat, a mix of blood and saliva landing near Kyle’s loafers, “I’m not getting detention over you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He picked himself up and quickly pushed through the crowd with trudging footfalls. Kyle spotted Butters who had been watching and was now quickly chasing after the brunet. Kyle rolled his eyes before inspecting his fist. The collision with Cartman’s teeth had scuffed his knuckles somewhat and there was a muted trail of blood that Kyle grimaced at and wiped off on the back of his trousers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You throw a hell of a punch,” Stan announced.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I took boxing classes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Are you serious?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yeah, you have to know how to knock someone’s lights out if you’re going to live in a city y’know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> The shrill cry of the bell sounded and everyone began to head back inside as if there had been no fight at all. Kyle felt, as he moved among the homogenous sea of students, a pair of eyes on his back. He looked over his shoulder to see Kenny, the caretaker, smiling at him while smoking a cigarette.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span> That evening, Kyle felt restless. His Latin class was mediocre, intended for Catholics that wanted to understand what they were being told at mass and not for anyone looking to become an academic translator. Cartman had been glaring at him during dinner that evening as well which had left him unsettled and angry. His heart was beating hard in chest and he wanted the relief of the frosty air to cool his temper. If he were in the city, with more money at his disposal, he would have had a cigarette. He hadn’t been assigned any work to do for his classes and he had tried to read but after picking up a fifth volume and still finding himself unable to focus on the words, he decided it was pointless and gave up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Looking up from his bed, he could faintly make out black patches spreading out on the ceiling. He hadn’t seen them before and yet they seeped through so much of the white plaster. Perhaps it was a trick of the light. Kyle didn’t have a watch with him but he could assume it must have been near midnight as all the lights had been shut off in the dormitories and his roommates were fast asleep. Tweek was asleep too, though he wouldn’t have appeared so to an outsider. He made the same yelps and gaps that he made when he was awake, occasionally crying something out and tossing in his bed. The bed frames were all metal. A rusty metal at that too which groaned and creaked if you didn’t lie perfectly still.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Kyle sighed to himself and he got out from underneath his threadbare blanket and slipped into his shoes. He grabbed a pack of gum from his bedside table and set about going to get some fresh air. As he pushed the door open, the darkness flooded his senses and he had to use his hands to make out where he was going. It was strange how the corridor suddenly felt endless despite the fact that Kyle knew his room was quite close to the main exit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Finally getting to the stairwell, Kyle took care to keep quiet as he knew that there was a matron stationed somewhere to keep an eye out for anyone leaving their room after lights out. The frail wood that made up the steps felt even more delicate as he tried to step as lightly as possible. A sudden bang alerted him, his foot nearly slipping and he would have tumbled down the stairs had he not grabbed the railing. He could feel the iron making an indent in his palm. It was too dark to investigate the cause of the sound. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> As he descended, he suddenly wished he were going out for a smoke. This was not because he believed the tobacco would have calmed his nerves but because he would have had some matches on him to light his way. Every time Kyle attempted to navigate the sprawling second storey of the school house he became somewhat lost. It was almost as though the layout was continually changing and a corridor that he had determined would lead to the set of stairs connected to the first floor would suddenly take him to a long deserted hall. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> As Kyle looked down at the hall in question, he noted that the numbers of these doors appeared on no one’s schedule. Every room began with 2A in dulled brass and would then be followed by another two digits. The only illumination the corridor had was the thin sliver of a waning crescent glow from the large window at the very end. Kyle approached the window. The steel muntins gleamed in the warm white light of the moon. To his right, he heard a strange sound. A scratching.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Kyle looked at the door, it was unmarked and likely a cupboard of some kind. </span>
  <em>
    <span>It must be rats</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He had heard rats in the walls at Christophe’s. The sound their feet made against the wooden crawl space had reminded Kyle of a classmate he’d had in elementary school who would throw his head down and frantically scratch at his desk when he was distressed. His nails had been worn past his fingertips and so he would make desperate claws, his fingers pointed to his palm, so that he had something to grate the wood beneath him with.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Kyle quickly left that corridor and decided to return to his previous course of trying to get outside so he could chew some gum. It was strange that there were so many shadows that seemed to stretch and shiver around him despite the lack of a light that could cast them. He kept finding himself whipping his head in one direction or the other because he could’ve sworn he’d seen something gliding past him but he was only met with the indecipherable black gloom that enveloped the entire area. He felt the hairs on his neck stand up and his heart was pounding and despite his wish to pelt down towards the stairs, he knew he couldn’t get caught. He supposed that this feeling was caused by a mix of fear of being discovered and unfamiliarity.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He felt as though he had been rambling around the second floor for a lifetime when he finally reached the stairs that led downwards. He half wished he had left markers for himself in the same way hikers did on a particularly difficult path. The first floor was so much more manageable and Kyle was quickly out into the courtyard. If someone had pressed him for the time, he would have guessed it was one o’clock or later but not quite three yet. The icy winds howled around him and he suddenly wished he had brought a coat. However, he didn’t have any coat but the frumpy frock coat buried deep in his trunk. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Kyle couldn’t see much beyond his hand out in front of him as he unwrapped a piece of gum and put it in his mouth. The clove flavoured gum had been discounted when he went to the general store the day before he left the city and so he had bought as much as he could with the allowance money he had left. He didn’t particularly like the taste at first and wished that it was a mint flavoured gum that was on sale. Most people probably felt that way, he mused, which is why the clove gum was being sold for a cheaper price. After having it so much for the past five days, he found he had become accustomed to it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> There was a sudden flicker of light that made Kyle jump out of his skin and he nearly swallowed the gum in his mouth. The yellow light dimmed to a small red ring with smoking billowing around it. Someone was out here having a cigarette. Kyle considered running inside on the off chance that it was the matron abandoning her post for a cigarette but he didn’t really know why the old bat would’ve left the minute warmth offered inside to do that. Kyle could understand why you might prefer to smoke outside sometimes but in this weather it was nonsensical.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Who’s there?” he asked, his hand turning into a fist. There was silence. Kyle began to march towards the cigarette holder, vaguely making out the shadow of a figure. Tall but obscured underneath a thick coat. It wasn’t until he was an arms length away he could make out the pink face underneath the coat hood.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Kenny?”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Rendezvous</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>It's the next spooky week chapter! <br/>There's some not really graphic het in this one towards the end where Kenny is eating Bebe out so if you wanna avoid that then yeah</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The image of Kyle, wind-blushed and unkempt, as he stood over Cartman with a look over sheer rage on his face had an unexpected effect on Kenny’s mental stability. He hadn’t been able to get the image out of his mind since he saw it. The tightly clenched fist, the snark of teeth and the normally large green eyes narrowed into pinpricks as the boy barked at the bully in disgust had made Kenny feel dizzy. He had scrubbed at his eyes all day in the hopes that he might heal them from the image of the redhead burnt in his retinas.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He hadn’t had any luck with that method and it kept him awake. It was well past midnight according to his alarm clock when he decided to go outside to have a smoke. His shack was so small that he was fairly certain that if even a little ash fell onto his bed, the whole place would go up in flames. This had never been a problem for him, he enjoyed the quiet and the endless dark that stretched out over the courtyard. At this time of night, he couldn’t even see that awful cross.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Tonight, however, was different. He had heard a voice after all. He thought that the lack of sleep was getting to him but he was now confronted by the same pale face that had been keeping him awake. Only this time it was too white, blood drained from it, and green eyes wide.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Kenny?” he said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He was glad his mouth was occupied with a cigarette because he was surprised that the other boy even remembered. It had been mentioned so offhandedly when they met and the redhead had only just woken up. Kenny was sure that he would have forgotten. Instead of saying that though, he cleared his throat, letting smoke escape his mouth before he began to speak.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “That’s my name,” he said, before lifting his eyebrow, “What are you doing outside at this hour?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I couldn’t sleep,” Kyle rubbed at his arm which was only a thin piece of silk away from being totally bare.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Well, you should get back inside before you catch a cold,” Kenny paused to take a drag on his cigarette, “Or get caught by the matron.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You look like an eskimo in that coat,” Kyle said, which wasn’t really a response at all but Kenny almost choked on his own spit before chuckling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “That’s an odd thing to say.”</span>
</p><p><span> “I suppose it is but it just struck me. My brother is from Canada and my mother took me to see </span><em><span>Nanook of the North</span></em> <span>at the pictures as a way of telling me. Only, I thought my brother was going to be an inuit in a big coat, bringing a canoe along with him and trying to build igloos in our apartment. He wasn’t though, and I remember being disappointed when they brought him home.”</span></p><p>
  <span> “Canada? Why’d they adopt from there?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Hell if I know,” Kyle chuckled. He was clutching both of his arms to himself as the wind whipped his red curls around.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Why aren’t you wearing a coat?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I didn’t bring one. Not a winter one at least. I didn’t think it would be so cold here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You should check the lost property cupboard, it’s near the mess hall. That’s where I got half of my clothes from.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Am I allowed to just take it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yeah, no one really questions it. Most of it was left here by boarders years ago.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Thank you. I was worried I’d have to ask my mother to send me a coat up which is more than she can afford to do at the moment.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> They stood there for a moment, alone together in the quiet of the night. The sky was starless here and so the only onlooker to the young men’s conversation was the moon in the sky. Kenny noted Kyle’s eyes turning towards it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “The moon here is very yellow,” Kyle said, “In the city, it’s silver but here it’s more of a cream colour.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I’ve never seen a different moon,” Kenny responded, “It just looks like the moon to me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Kyle gave a small smile at this before yawning. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You really should get inside before you catch your death.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Okay, I can take a hint. I’ll leave you and your cigarette be.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> At that Kyle hurried away, disappearing totally into the darkness. Kenny suddenly wished that they had better light out here after all. The flame on his cigarettes had eaten away most of his cigarette now, a cylinder of ash in its place that he quickly knocked away.  </span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span> The students had gone home or to their dorm rooms for now. Some students lingered to read in the library or catch up on tests they had failed while other students had been placed in detention, made to write lines on slates that screeched when chalk touched their surface. At this period of time, Kenny was expected to sweep the corridors since they were unlikely to just get messy all over again. Occasionally there would be a muddy footprint on the ground that Kenny had to try and scrub with a dry cloth. The school couldn’t afford the amount of water it would cost for Kenny to regularly mop every floor in the building.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He turned a corner and found himself at the mouth of one of the disused corridors which had existed when the teaching staff was triple its current size.  It was dedicated to the arts -demarcated by the A in the room numbers here-  with a music room for students learning to play piano or violin, there were pottery classes with dedicated kilns and at the furthest end they had a painting and drawing studio since those rooms had the best natural light. There was even a dark room here from the days of the school’s ambitious endeavour of teaching photography.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Kenny usually took no notice of this area, the lights were never on, and he would head in the opposite direction towards the language classrooms but today something strange caught his eye. A door in the abandoned wing had been left wide open casting a shadow along the ground. Kenny walked over to close the door when he noticed something odd. There had been a supply closet where miscellaneous items were kept from extra paper to t-bandages but mostly just art supplies of varying kinds. It had been untouched for years after the handle on the outside broke off. The handle had broken after the arts department had been left vacant. The forsaken closet was the one that was currently wide open.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> The handle on the outside was still very much gone, he noted. As he grabbed the door to push it shut, he heard a soft splash when he stepped forward. Murky water was pooling around his boots, gushing from inside the closet at an alarming rate. Peering in, it was impossible to tell where the water was coming from. It seemed to be rising from the gaps between the floorboards. He crouched over to inspect it in the hopes of finding the source of the leak but it was too dark to make anything out. Resolving to mention the issue to principal Victoria, Kenny pushed himself up only to find himself eye to eye with the otherside of the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Long scratches covered the wood, some shallow and others deep and vicious with dark stains about them. The handle was broken off on the inside too. Kenny felt his heart leap into his throat as he stared.  Someone had been trapped in here. His stomach turned. Kenny turned back to the inside of the closet but there was no sign of anyone. The light began to fade and Kenny pivoted to find the door closing on him. He pushed the door open and leapt out so as not to be trapped inside.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span> Kenny and Victoria revisited the closet together, Victoria bringing a lantern along so that they might see what was inside better. The door was still open, blotting out the last few red rays of sun just as it had been when Kenny first saw it but there were no gleaming puddles as the streaks hit the floor. Shrugging this off for now, he led Victoria towards the closet only to find the area completely dry and the scratch marks mostly faded. In their wake was a set of odd symbols carved into the old wood. Victoria held the lantern over the dim closet but only found easels, tins of turpentine, tubes of paint, replacement violin strings, tripods and other paraphernalia that would be particular to the arts. Victoria made a noise in the back of her throat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Mr McCormick,” She began, gently, “Have you been getting enough sleep as of late?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I’ve been getting all the sleep I can. I usually turn in once my work is finished,” he said. Victoria didn’t need to know he was up late last night. It didn’t matter anyway, Kenny knew what happened and it wasn’t a fatigue-fuelled hallucination.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Victoria was quiet for a moment, letting the orange glow of the lantern swing over the closet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Are you particularly stressed at the moment?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Not anymore than usual. Aren’t we all stressed these days?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Victoria gave a small laugh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “It’s dark in here,” she started with a cadence Kenny had heard her use with confused students, “When it’s dark, our eyes attempt to interpret what is in front of us with very little information so we fall back on what we’ve seen before to supplicate what’s missing. Do you understand what I’m saying, Mr McCormick?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yes, ma’am.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “All right, well, do finish up soon and make sure to get a good night of rest. If you see anything else take a note of it for me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> With that she left, disappearing down the winding hallways with nothing but the tapping of the soles of her shoes to indicate she was ever there at all. Now alone, Kenny grit his teeth, infuriated at the notion he had imagined any of what he had seen. He ran his fingertips over the bizarre carvings. They were foreign and familiar at the same time. Familiar in the way that song you might hear on the radio is that you don’t think you’ve ever heard before but you find yourself knowing the tune and humming along with it in perfect harmony. The kind of familiarity that is ingrained somewhere in your brain that you can find, only be shown when reminded. Kenny slammed the door shut, not interested in being mocked by symbols or the mundane innards of the closet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He picked up his broom and made off in the opposite direction so that he might finish work at a reasonable hour. It was only when he was sweeping a classroom far away from the old arts department that he realised his boots were wet. The laces were sodden and water glistened on top of the worn leather dripping down through holes to his socks, making the fabric damp. He quickly decided that he must have spilled something on himself despite the last time he had been near anything wet was when the closet was flooding.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>It had been awhile since Bebe had last come to visit him so he was unsurprised when she burst into his shack at two in the afternoon that Wednesday. He had half a mind to ask her why she thought it was okay not to knock but quickly decided it wasn’t worth the hassle to be grouchy. Bebe would, on occasion, try to strike up some sort of conversation whilst Kenny went down on her. It always failed because his mouth and tongue were otherwise occupied so it was really just her talking aloud to herself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> She did it for her own benefit. She probably found someone having their attention so devoted to you, or at least part of your body, was uncomfortable and that it was easier to break the tension by talking. The topics she picked range from inane to uncomfortable. In specific, she had once begun to discuss how Karen’s embroidery was coming along. Kenny had to stop at that point and say he didn’t want to have thoughts of his sister put in his head when he was doing this sort of thing. Today’s topic of conversation was Kyle, the new boy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I think he’s quite handsome but in a strange way a...” she was interrupted by her own gasping here but once she had composed herself she soldiered on, “A way that not a lot of men are. His features are soft and sharp at the same time, like an elegant woman. You know, like Marlene Dietrich. Why are you stopping?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You make it sound like you’re attracted to women. Specifically Marlene Dietrich.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Bebe practically squawked in response, heat rushing to her face and eyes wide.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I’m not! Obviously, I’m not interested in other women for goodness sake! I just didn’t know a good way to word it. You know he has sharp cheekbones and an aquiline nose but he has big green eyes and full lips.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Aquiline? You’re thinking of Roman, dear.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What’s the difference?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aquiline has a curve in it, a bit like a beak, and a Roman nose is straight all the way down from the brow, like this,” he attempted to illustrate the difference by tracing a line from his brow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “His nose isn’t straight, there’s a bump in it, it goes like this,” she demonstrated where the bridge of his nose protruded slightly with her finger like Kenny had just done.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I’m not really interested in discussing the new boy’s nose right now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Well, you </span>
  <em>
    <span>are </span>
  </em>
  <span>the one that decided to correct me. Anyway, you can get on with it, you know how I like to talk.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Kenny sighed but got back to the task at hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Well anyway, the girls want me to invite him to town with us this Saturday. I think all of them like him for one reason or another. Most of them like him because he’s from the city and it’s exciting. You’re stopping again?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Could you talk about something else? It’s weird for you to talk about other men when I’m doing this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “We aren’t a couple, you know,” he fingers tightened their hold on Kenny’s mattress, nails digging in to its threadbare covering and she muttered out a soft “fuck” before continuing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Well, if we can’t talk about Kyle, I’ll talk about the movies. You know, at first I thought talkies were so much better but sometimes I miss silent pictures. It used to be a lot more about the faces people made, what they were wearing, how they moved, the backdrop and what not but nowadays, they just have the actors sit and talk for over half the picture because it’s easier than having them actually do something.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Bebe continued her diatribe on the pros and cons of talkies in comparison to silent films. She felt that on the whole, you didn’t have to pay as much attention to a talkie to know what was going on because the actors spent so much of the picture telling you directly but at the same time she liked to go to the pictures for the very reason of being absorbed into that other world. She said that Westerns suffered less from this problem of too much talking but she never cared much for Westerns and preferred romance and mystery films instead. She was just in the middle of explaining the twist in her favourite film when she climaxed, cutting herself off mid sentence with a cry.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I won’t bother to watch that film then,” Kenny said as he wiped his mouth, “since you’ve ruined the ending.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh hush,” she stood up, straightening out her blouse and skirt, “It’s not in the theatre anymore so you couldn’t see it if you wanted to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “In some towns, they have enough screens to reshow old pictures if they’re popular enough.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Well that’s certainly not South Park, is it?” He paused, “You wouldn’t happen to know if someone visited the arts corridor, would you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Bebe pursed her lips and squinted, a tell tale sign she was thinking something over. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Not that I know of. Why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Well, it’s a bit odd but...” Kenny rubbed his forehead, “There’s a supply closet in that hall with the handle broken off so it’s impossible to get into. I found it wide open yesterday and it’s been bothering me ever since. Also there were some weird carvings on the inside of the door.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Weird how?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “They looked like... well they kind of reminded me of hieroglyphs, it looked like a language of some kind. One I’d never seen before.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “That sounds eerie,” Bebe shuddered, “If I had to bet on it though, I’d say it was either a seventh grader playing explorer or the Lugosis doing some sort of morbid ritual that they read about in a book.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> The Lugosis was the name that people around the school used to refer to a peculiar group of kids that wore all black, recited verses of Poe at random and generally looked and behaved like a character you might find standing next to Bela Lugosi in a horror picture. Hence the name “Lugosis”. Some people took them more seriously than others. In this case taking them seriously is either terrified of them (this being the likes of Butters and Tweek). For the most part though they were mocked relentlessly. Kenny had never found that the group of eccentrics occupied his mind much at all. Michael, the de facto leader of the group, had been in the grade above him in elementary and his father owned the local bookstore. He had no mother because she took off when the crash struck and it seemed like the bookstore might go out of business. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You're probably right. I just don’t understand how they got the door open in the first place.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Where there’s a will, there’s a way, dear,” Bebe responded, “Now then, I’ve got to get to Wendy’s house, we’re studying for a test on Friday.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Good luck.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You’re too kind. Au revoir!”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Friends</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This chapter is more fluffy than horror based but there are some descriptions of extreme poverty at the beginning of the chapter.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Kyle had assumed that after the incident in the courtyard, Cartman would be the least of his worries. Presently he was growing more and more concerned with how he could ever achieve his goal of translator on the Latin lessons Park County offered. He felt stupid for not realising in such a place as South Park, Latin was something learnt so as better to understand Mass on a Sunday morning. Kyle hadn’t known, never had a reason to know, that Catholics worshipped in Latin and he was surprised to see how well the students in the class pronounced their words, which had never been too great a concern for himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Of the students, Kyle noted Kenny’s tawny-haired relation as she fiddled with wooden rosary beads tucked under her wool sweater. From this, Kyle could assume Kenny must have been something of a devoted Catholic himself. Christophe’s parents had been too. Apparently they were all Catholics in France or mostly Catholic at least. Christophe was an atheist all though he was usually more inclined to say something about “God being dead” which made Kyle roll his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Everything at Park County was lacking in comparison to Wells. Wells had offered classes on almost anything you might reasonably wish to study with articulate professors who invited students to lectures on whatever specialties they had been researching in their spare time and so on. He had felt like a true academic in Wells wearing his pressed black jacket with the school’s emblem, his crisp white shirt and burgundy vest. He didn’t miss the knee high socks though, they always made him feel juvenile. With the exception of the uniform, attending Wells made Kyle feel like he was a university student already. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> If Kyle lingered on these differences for too long he began to feel a dreadful longing for the busy streets of home, with tires screeching on tarmac, vendors jumping out at you on the sidewalk with booming voices, the art students with paint streaked cheeks and clothes carrying their easels,paints and canvases under one arm. Though that rose tinted view of the city streets dissipated rather quickly when he remembered the common sights of men and women wasting away, emaciated, sometimes even with children whose faces were hollow and eyes sunken, looking paler than death itself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Sometimes, these bodies were so indistinguishable from a corpse that you might only realise that you had passed a dead body when you didn’t hear a hoarse voice begging for food or change. The first few times this had happened to Kyle, he called for help but was told to just leave them be. The coroners were overworked and underfunded, they couldn’t deal with every homeless body found rotting in the street. They were taken away before they began to putrefy too greatly but Kyle often wondered if the bodies had simply been dragged out to alleyways by citizens concerned only by the stench of decay. The city forced you to become numb to human suffering in a manner that Kyle struggled to imagine in South Park. The smallness of the community, the lack of vagabonds wasting away on the frosty ground. They couldn’t afford to be as callous as people in the city. Any body that they found probably belonged to a friend’s sister or a cousin’s neighbour. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Kyle tried to put away any thoughts he had regarding the horrors of the city but it was hard. People here seemed to think it was a splendid place full of wealthy bohemians who dressed stylishly, drove cars and shopped exclusively in big department stores. The truth was much more complicated. Before the crash, Kyle had never been poor but he had never been rich either. He never could have attended Wells without the scholarship that supplemented some of his tuition. His mother reused clothes that had been in the family for over half a century, possibly even longer. His father couldn’t afford to smoke a pipe like many of his friends and Kyle and Ike had been forced to share a bedroom in their crowded apartment above the barbershop.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> They didn’t have a radio but they had books. Home was always warm and food was never scarce. Kyle knew his parents made sacrifices for his and his brother’s sake so that they didn’t have to deal with privation so that they could become well educated and thus get good jobs, all in the hopes that they didn’t have to worry about cutting corners for their own children. Kyle hadn’t always been so appreciative of this. He couldn’t go to the pictures with Lizzie nearly as frequently as she asked him to or have the money for drinks at the soda fountain in the pharmacy with other boys and girls his age. Well, he could have done those things but he chose to spend his small allowance on cigarettes and saved the rest for books. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> His parents had agreed to send him checks every month while he stayed at Park County so that he could write letters or phone home. They also agreed that he might, on occasion, need to buy something in town such as new pencils or ink for his pen. Kyle had unfortunately spent far too much of his money on his journey to the school itself and, had he not lied about having nothing else, might have been cheated out of even more. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> All digressions aside, it was a Friday afternoon and Kyle hadn’t given Cartman a second thought since he hit him hard enough to knock a tooth loose. He was sitting with Stan’s friends again, eating a vegetable soup which was one of the more pleasant meals he’d had since he started at the school. He didn’t even mind that the bread was stale. It wasn’t moldy and that was enough for him. He stayed on the outskirts of the boys’ conversation, he might chime in here or there but he generally didn’t speak unless he was spoken to directly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Kyle was about to tear off a piece of bread to dip in his soup but the roll was quickly snatched from his plate. Kyle looked up to see Cartman gripping it in his hands. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Haven’t you eaten enough or is that how you maintain your figure?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> There were a few sniggers from the boys at the table.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What? The Jew is so greedy that he can’t share his bread.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I’m hardly the greedy one in the situation.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “This bread isn’t for me,” the brunet announced, “It’s for Butters, he dropped his on the floor.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “By that do you mean you ate his?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “God, can’t you shut up? Your voice is worse than the sound of a dying cat.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yours reminds me of someone gargling sewage.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Frustrated in Kyle’s readiness to verbally spar with him Cartman took the quicker option that would incite the boy to violence. He spat in his soup. At this Kyle’s eyes narrowed and he flew from his seat about to strike before Stan tugged him back down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You’ll get murdered by Mr Garrison if he sees you fighting in here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Kyle scowled but decided the best form of revenge was to grab his soup, which was piping hot, and throw it all over Cartman as he pretended to trip.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I’m so dreadfully sorry,” Kyle said with a voice of caustic innocence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Fucking Jew rat.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> The brown haired boy hurried away, pulling his hat further down his head as though it would hide the angry red blotches of anger that were exploding over his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What on earth is wrong with that boy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “His mother used to work in a cathouse so a hell of a lot, I’d say,” Clyde answered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What? Is that true or just a rumour?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “It’s tuh-true. He’s literally a buh-buh-bastard,” Jimmy answered with a grin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “He doesn’t even know his father, his mother got knocked up in there and left when she found out since she didn’t want to raise her kid in a place like that,” Stan added.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Still doesn’t give him the right to make such a nuisance of himself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “No one disagrees with that,” Craig said, “But you’re only making this rivalry worse. The boy is near deranged and he’ll only give up once he thinks he’s bested you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “That’s not going to happen. He’s as yellow as they come, all I have to do is pull my hand back and he’ll probably start crying.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yes but he’s sneaky, he’ll get at you in ways you can’t prove and try to make things so unbearable for you that might just go mad,” Tweek cried, grabbing at his messy hair. There were a few of his trademark shrieks as he spoke, all with rising innovation. Craig simply patted his shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I’ve dealt with worse, you know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I doubt it,” Stan grimaced.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After lunch, Kyle had a French class. He had never been particularly interested in learning French since the language wasn't particularly useful and it’s popularity in being taught was derived from English aristocratic traditions. However, his other options had been woodworking, choir or bible studies so French had been the obvious choice in this scenario. He was worried that some of it would remind him too much of Christophe but, at the end of the day, he didn’t actually have to put effort in the class if he didn’t want to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Kyle, I’m glad I caught you,” a hand grabbed his shoulder and twirled him around, bringing him face to face with the pretty blonde girl he’d noted in the mess hall on Monday. With her she had two of her friends, the tall dark haired girl and a short plump girl with mousy brown hair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I’m sorry, how do you know my name?” He asked and the short girl giggled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Ah, well we don’t really get a lot of students like you around here so word travels fast, you know. Oh god, you probably don’t know me. I’m Bebe,” the blonde’s hand flew out and Kyle readjusted his grip on his exercise book so that he could shake it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I’m Heidi,” the shorter girl interjected, also jutting out her hand so Kyle shook hers too. He was beginning to feel like some sort of politician at this point and was glad that the tall girl had continued looking off into the middle distance as though she were waiting for this all to be over.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “We wanted to ask if you’d like for us to show you around town tomorrow,” Bebe said, “It being that you’re new here and you’ll probably want something to do on Saturdays other than being cooped up in the dormitories.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I know it won’t be like the city but we have a theatre that shows pictures sometimes and a pharmacy with a soda fountain so there are things to do here. Just not a lot.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I appreciate the offer,” Kyle chewed on his lip as he looked over the girls heads to see Kenny, broad shouldered and tall as he made his way into the mess hall, “What time would you like to meet?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I board here so you won’t have to worry about trying to get there yourself,” Heidi added before Bebe could speak.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Don’t be silly, Heidi,” Bebe said with a forced smile knocking into the other girl with her shoulder in a supposedly playful manner, “I’ll come by at twelve and I’ll wait at the gates so we can all walk together.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Thank you but I imagine it’s rather out of your way.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh no, not at all. My house is east of town so I’d pass the school on my way.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Well, thank you. I’ll see you then,” Kyle turned to go to class only to hear the girls still following him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What class do you have?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “French.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Us too! You arrived here late so you’ve missed some lessons but we’re perfectly happy to help you catch up,” Bebe said. Her voice had a song like quality from how upbeat sounded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “That’s very kind, I’ll see how I get on.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> The group then headed to the second floor to the row of classrooms just opposite the corridor Kyle had heard the rats running around in on Monday.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span> Later that evening, Kyle found himself feeling restless but he chose not to try and venture out into the courtyard in the twilight and opted to go while there were still a few dying rays of sun. This time it was much less difficult to escape the labyrinthine second floor. The sky had a powdery grey hue, only slightly disrupted by the red waves of the sun. The colours blended into a beautiful lilac. Kyle couldn’t see much of the sky back home, the street lamps were always lit and the smog from the factories tended to further obfuscate it from view. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Someone’s popular with the ladies,” Kyle nearly jumped out of his skin as he stood outside chewing his clove flavoured gum. It was Kenny, wearing his thick coat. Kyle felt the sleeves of his new suede duck coat that he had managed to find on the taller boy’s advice. It was quite big on him but it was incredibly warm. He liked the cinnamon colour of it, even if he thought it clashed with his more vibrantly coloured hair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I’m not sure, I think I’m just a novelty.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Novelty or not, I think Bebe was considering murder when Heidi got too close.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You saw all that? How humiliating.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Not saw, heard,” Kenny snorted, “Besides, it’s not exactly humiliating to have the most popular girl in school pawing all over you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Well, it’s a bit much, you know? I felt so awkward standing there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I can see why’d you feel that why, but it sounded like you were just playing the role of the mysterious city boy they so adore.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh god,” Kyle whined, hiding his face behind his hands. Kenny laughed loudly at that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Which one of them do you think you’ll go out with.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I don’t really know them yet besides, they’ll probably realise how uninteresting I am tomorrow  and not want a thing to do with me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “That’s a pessimistic thing to say.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I just mean that it seems like everyone has decided who I am without getting to know me and I don’t think I’ll live up to their expectations.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I’m sure you will, you’re all fancy and cultured.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “But I’m not. Not really. I went to a good school and I learnt a lot of Latin, read classical poetry but that’s about it. I spent most of my time doing school work or trying to get girls at Jazz clubs.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I hate to tell you this, Kyle, but everything you just said makes you sound like a slick protagonist from a mystery pulp novel.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Kyle paused for a moment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You do remember my name? I thought you’d forgotten it or that you didn’t remember meeting when I introduced myself to you on Saturday.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Kenny’s cheeks looked pink in a way Kyle didn’t think was caused by the cold.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Well, I would have been a whole lot more concerned on Monday when you said my name if I didn’t remember meeting you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Kyle chuckled at that. When he was a boy, he had worn a green trapper hat that kept his ears warm but he had grown out of it and his mother gave it to Ike. Kyle thought of it now because he felt the urge to pull at the flaps on it as though he were a child again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “That makes sense.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> There was a quietness hanging over the two of them, just like there had been on Monday and Kyle knew that meant that the conversation was over but he didn’t want it to end, not really. He had thought he was used to being alone but it wasn’t true. Back home, he had his family who were always willing to listen to him. Well, not his father who was always too busy and too irritated by his boys being emotional in any sense of the word but his mother was always there to comfort him if he felt troubled. He could talk to Ike too, even if the kid could be an ass, but for the most part he was used to Ike talking at him about whatever he’d learnt in school that day, talking about automation or whatever else had fascinated him at the moment and Kyle enjoyed to listen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Even though he had Stan and his friends, he was an outsider. He didn’t play football, he hadn’t known any of them since he was a child and he hadn’t grown up like them either. They had spent this afternoon chatting about Halloween. They reminisced about the best tricks they pulled, the costumes they wore and going on hay rides together. Kyle’s experience of Halloween was totally different. His mother would keep him indoors for as much of it as possible. The only part of the holiday they had in common was the pranks but Kyle had never been the one pulling them, his family had been on the receiving end. Whether it was a group of kids incessantly pressing the buzzer or his mother being pelted with eggs when she went to grab some food from the deli. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “That girl you were sat with on Sunday, is she your sister?” Kyle asked. He had been curious about how she was related to Kenny because he knew by just how alike they looked that they had to be family and his best guess was that they were siblings. At this question, a soft smile spread across the blond’s face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yes, she is. Her name is Karen.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “She’s in Latin class with me, she’s very good at it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I’m glad to hear. She loves singing hymns at church, I think that’s why she started taking the classes. She’s a good kid.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Kyle wondered if he should press Kenny about why his sister was attending the school and he wasn’t but Kyle thought he already knew. He was sacrificing his own chance to get an education so his sister could afford to have one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Well, you’re a good big brother.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “How do you know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I can just tell. I’m an older brother after all, I can tell these sorts of things.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Kenny gave a laugh but then he stopped suddenly and looked at his feet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Kyle, I don’t think you should talk to me as much as you do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Why is that?” the redhead lifted his eyebrow even though the blond couldn't see it. His voice was sharp though, causing Kenny to look back at his scowling face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “It’s just… you know, you’re part of Stan’s group and all the girls like you and I don’t want to ruin that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Kenny, how could you ruin that for me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I think that’s obvious,” Kenny gestured to himself, to the tattered and dirty overalls that peeked out from under his coat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Kenny, if someone is shallow enough to dislike me simply because we’re friends then I wouldn’t want them to like me in the first instance.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “We’re friends?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I suppose so? I’ve never had many friends but I feel comfortable talking to you. When I’m in Stan’s group I don’t feel like I can just speak. It’s easier if Stan and I are by ourselves but even then I feel so much more relaxed around you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Well, I’m not in a position to judge anyone.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I don’t mean it like that, for God’s sake. It’s hard to explain but it’s almost as though I’ve known you longer than a week. I just feel like we seem to understand each other in some way.... I probably sound crazy right now if you don’t feel that way.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “No, no,” Kenny rushed, “I’ve never been much of a talker but I like to talk to you. It was nice on Monday when we spoke even if it was short.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I’m glad,” Kyle smiled, “So that makes us friends?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yes, I think so. I haven’t had a friend in a long while myself, I’ve been too busy working.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Well, that settles it! The two of us are friends!”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This slow burn has officially reached the friends mark :D</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Toil</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Tomorrow is the last of the Halloween chapters so I'll be back to more sporadic updates. This chapter's a bit shorter and also not very horror-y except for a gross spider.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Kenny woke up on Saturday morning feeling an intense fatigue in his bones. As he ran through a mental list of every task he had to do today, he almost wished that a tornado would come and sweep his shack off into the abyss. Instead, he forced himself up, cleaned his teeth over the basin and pulled his overalls on. He had breakfast in the mess hall today, catching a glimpse of Kyle who nodded towards him in recognition before returning to stare at his toast dismally. Not a morning person, Kenny thought to himself. The kitchen had only served dry toast today which stuck to Kenny’s throat but it was quickly followed with watery coffee. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> After eating, Kenny went to check the fuse box which was just above the front entrance. Everything seemed fine there so he left that be. Grabbing a broom and some rags from the cleaning closet, he went upstairs to clean up the classrooms. This was why Saturdays were so painful. He might have had more time to himself if he did a few of them on Friday but that would have only made Fridays insufferable. Tying a rag over his nose, Kenny began to dust the top of the chalkboard in Miss Choksondik’s room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> This room was the easiest to clean since Choksondik was something of a neat freak who insisted on keeping her room spotless which meant she typically took out her own trash and polished her desks. You wouldn’t have thought this from looking at her desk though which was covered in scattered papers. Her inkwell had tipped over, staining several book reports and the lacquered surface of her desk. Kenny knew better to organise her things for her though.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Cleaning the classrooms was an arduous task and by the end of it, Kenny’s eyes were itchy and wet from the falling dust. He had emptied the contents of the waste baskets into a burlap sack and then he had to take them to the incinerator. There was a chute for it at the junction between the abandoned arts corridor and the languages department. The sack had become quite heavy, as it was every week, so Kenny had to drag it across the floor. It would sometimes catch on a nail that was sticking  out a little further out than it should be. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> The iron door to the chute made the same dramatic moan it always did when it was open. It needed oiling; its hinges were so rusty that Kenny was convinced that he might be unable to open the damn thing one day. He tugged at it for a while just to get it fully open. When it finally was, Kenny felt a tickling sensation on the back of his hand. A hairy black spider had scuttled out and was climbing towards his shirt sleeve. Instinctively, he slammed his hand against the wall, squashing the insect and smearing its guts over the muted yellow wallpaper. Kenny tried to clean his hand off on his overalls but the remains of the bug only spread themselves further across his skin. He decided it was best to wash his hand when he was checking the sink in 3B. For now, he had to tip the contents of the sack out and into the furnace below. He then turned the other way so as to head towards the dormitories.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> When he reached 3B, Kenny was greeted by an odd sight. A subdued and sallow looking Butters was laying on his bed with glassy eyes fixed to the ceiling. Kenny followed the boy’s stare and found black patches of damp spreading through the plaster that he knew hadn’t been there the week before. He wondered if the school would want him to clean and paint over them or if it was best to just leave them there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> The smaller blond boy’s eyes were so fixed on these patches that Kenny wondered if he was cloud gazing with them. Looking at them, they were nothing more than amorphous Rorschach blobs but he had never been particularly imaginative. Maybe there was an interesting shape or image to be found within the mould seeping through the ceiling. Kenny cleared his throat but Butters gaze remained fixed above.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You okay, kid?” Kenny asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I’m just a little under the weather,” Butters replied but he didn’t have the usual exuberantly cheerful tone that Kenny associated him with.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I’ve gotta check that the faucet is still good. Don’t forget to eat.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Don’t worry, Kenny,” the boy gave a weak smile, “Mrs Cartman said she’d bring me up some soup later.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Butters had turned his head on his pillow so that he was facing Kenny. His eyes were sunken with dark rings around them. A sheen of sweat on his brow trembled on his brow. Kenny hurried toward the wash room, shutting the door behind him. Before he checked the sink, he scrubbed his hand until he got the spider guts off. It had actually taken him far longer to do than he expected, he’d even had to grab the bar of soap off of the sink which was now tainted with the spider’s innards. He made a mental note to replace the bar so nobody got sick from it. Then he unscrewed the pipe connecting the faucet to the water supply and inspected it for any trace of the strange substance he’d found last week. This was a new pipe since the old one could be salvaged. Whatever the substance was, it had dried and wouldn’t come of. Kenny found that everything was in order and quickly put the sink back together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Kenny didn’t say goodbye to Butters when he left, hoping that the boy might get some rest. He looked like the victim of a vampire with his sickly complexion and lethargic demeanour. Well, lethargic for Butters at least. He felt a little guilty. Maybe not guilty, perhaps conflicted was a better word. He thought that Kyle had possessed his mind so thoroughly since they met because he was the only person he’d met in a long time that treated him like a person. Kyle was someone who went beyond being decent and cordial, as though acknowledging his existence was not a mere formality and obligation one had to do in order not to seem uncouth. However, Butters was friendly to him too and yet Kenny avoided him just as much as everyone else did. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Kenny liked to tell himself that it wasn’t because he found the boy irritating like everyone else did. Instead, he avoided him because the boy’s upbeat and sheltered nature seemed so easily corrupted by someone like himself that he would find it exhausting to be around him. That excuse didn’t hold up that well though. Butters was Cartman’s best friend (by virtue of being his only friend) so he spent most of his time with a much worse influence and Kenny had tried his best to keep Karen away from the horrors of the world but he didn’t find her presence tiresome in the slightest. Of course, there were variables. Cartman deliberately wanted to keep Butters as cheerfully naive as possible and Karen was Kenny’s little sister who he remembered mostly as a little girl that needed to be nurtured and cared for. In spite of these mental arguments he might have with himself, he knew that his interest in Kyle had to go beyond just the fact that he was kind to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> It was at that very conclusion that Kenny misjudged his footing on the stairs and fell face first, landing at the bottom step. His mouth tasted like iron and the back of his head throbbed. He let his fingers move through his hair to where the pain was. A warm bump had formed where he hit his head on the hardwood floor. When he pulled his hand away, there was blood. His shoulder was also aching because of how he’d fallen on it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> The stairs were broken too. Quite literally. The first four steps, the ones that Kenny had fallen down, were split in the middle. The rotting wood was bent towards the ground with jagged splintery edges from where they snapped. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Just great</span>
  </em>
  <span> he thought to himself. This now meant he would have to do the worst thing there was to do on a Saturday.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>The town square looked exactly as Kenny imagined it would. Just about everyone under the age of eleven was congregated in the dried, dead grass. The weekend had liberated them from the responsibility of homework and ushered in suitably high spirits for the coming Monday which would be Halloween. Little kids sat in conspiratorial circles planning their pranks together. A group of boys had donned the masks they’d gotten from the general store and were chasing a six year old girl around who was screaming her tiny head off. A group of brothers in muddy overalls happily marched homeward with a plump orange pumpkin each, freshly picked from the patch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> The square was not solely occupied by children though. There were people Kenny’s own age on their lunch breaks. They huddled together, hands warmed by steaming flasks of soup which they took swigs from intermittently all whilst chatting between themselves. This faction of teenagers were the ones who had jobs at the shops: stockroom assistants and part time cashiers. There were a few boys that worked on farms but most of the people who worked the fields ate where they worked. The same went for any miners although they’d all be a little older than Kenny. It took too much time to leave the underground tunnels to eat, so they all sat down, taking food out of tins hung over their shoulders and eating in the darkness and soot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> The Park County kids could be spotted on benches crowded around magazines that they had likely pooled their money together for. A group of girls stared wide eyed at the front of the clothing store where a pretty skirt was suspended behind the window, its price pasted on the glass. A few couples read the marquee at the theatre in the hopes that something good would be on but scrunched their noses at this weekend’s offering. Mostly though, people from Park County were either sheltering in the diner or the pharmacy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Sighing, Kenny entered the book store. Mr Tucker, the owner of the hardware store, was always kind of an ass and Kenny hoped that he could delay the inevitable meeting with him by perusing the dimly lit “spicy” section at the back of the store. Shelly, Stan’s older sister, was working there that afternoon, sat at the cash register with her chin resting on her knuckle. She no longer wore a retainer but she still had a prominent overbite and her hair was an ashen brown shade that couldn’t hold a curl which meant it drooped lifelessly from her head. She glared at Kenny as he entered, the bell above the door ringing to announce his arrival, and he very nearly turned heel.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> If there was anyone worse to deal with than Mr Tucker, it was Michelle Marsh. She’d had a sour attitude for as long as Kenny could remember and she didn’t seem like she was going to grow out of it. He knew in his bones that she was going to make a comment about his choice of magazine, with a curled lip and a raised eyebrow to boot. The thing was that Kenny couldn’t just walk out now that he had been seen by her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Swallowing his reluctance, he headed to the back anyway, hearing the older girl snort loudly when he did so. The Lugosis were sat together near the horror section, Michael had an anthology of Byron which he read aloud monotonously. His friends were completely enraptured although you wouldn’t have known it from their blank faces. Kenny ignored them as he began to sift through the stacks of magazines. They were kept on the top shelf in plain wrappers in no particular order which meant Kenny had to go through them individually to make sure he picked one up that had some good stories inside. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He had enjoyed the sexy alien stories he’d picked up last time but he wanted something different today. He was hoping for a slightly more grounded piece. He liked the works with women who were really into sex the best. Too many stories were about innocent damsels getting ravished and those never sat right with Kenny. A western themed magazine caught his eye with an illustration of a buxom redhead with half lidded eyes and full lips tipping her head back. The main feature was titled “The Sinful Exploits of Scarlett, the Bordello Queen.” It seemed to be the sort of thing he was into. The tumbling red curls that Scarlett had were especially pleasing. He flicked through to see how many illustrations the volume contained. As he did, something bumped into his side.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He dropped the magazine in shock only to find Kyle stood next to him. His red hair looked especially tousled and his cheeks were pink.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Sorry,” he said, reaching down to pick up Kenny’s magazine but the blond swooped down faster to keep the contents a secret.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What are you doing here? I thought you were out with the girls.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I was... well, am. I just needed a little break though and I wanted to look around here for any Latin textbooks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Their conversation had apparently attracted Michael’s attention since the background noise of Byron’s verse had dropped off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What are you looking for?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> The rest of the Lugosis were staring at them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “A Latin textbook,” Kyle said, slowly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “We don’t sell anything like that but I can ask my father to order one in for you, if you’d like.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You would do that? Thank you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “It’s my pleasure,” the black haired boy smirked and Kenny very suddenly wanted to pull Kyle into himself and away from Michael.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Kyle followed Kenny to the cash register despite Kenny’s insisting that he didn’t have to. That meant that he was there as Shelly pulled the magazine out of its plain wrapping and made a dramatic show of searching for the price despite the massive “20c” that was printed on the cover, turning it around and displaying the cover and a few of the racy pages to Kyle. Kenny wanted to crawl inside his parka the way a turtle would retreat into its shell. He was glad to get outside of the stuffy bookstore with the magazine tucked inside his coat. Kyle pulled a wool green scarf tightly around his thought, holding the long porcelain pillar from view.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “The Lugosis are never nice to anyone. Either you’ve got magic powers or they’re up to something.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I’m sorry, the who?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Those weird kids that dress like they’re in mourning. We call them the Lugosis because they look like they belong in a Bela Lugosi film.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Ah,” Kyle said, “That’s kind of mean, you know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Not really. They’d probably take it as a compliment, they all love horror movies.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Kyle shook his head but Kenny could see the hints of a smile on his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What are you doing down here anyway? Did you take a break to buy some smut?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I’ll have you know that some very respectable writers contribute to these magazines.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “That doesn’t make them any less smutty.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I suppose that’s true,” Kenny sniffed, “I’ve got to grab some stuff at Tucker’s since the stairs leading up to the dorms broke.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Broke? How?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “... I might have happened to fall down them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Kenny expected Kyle to laugh but instead his eyebrows knit in cinerhs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Christ, Kenny! Are you alright?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Of course I am,” he answered as though the back of his head wasn’t still throbbing. He had found in his way into town that there was a shooting pain that went up his knee if he stepped wrong. Even though Kenny didn't think his answer or tone betrayed that he was lying, Kyle remained skeptical.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Well, try to be more careful in the future,” he said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I always do!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Kyle seemed as though he had a lecture in store for the other boy but it was at that moment that Bebe came rushing out of the pharmacy with her friends in tow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “There you are!” She called, “We were worried we lost you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I said I had to go look in the bookstore,” he replied, hands shoved in his pockets and head bent a little lower. Bebe scoffed and grabbed his arm, pulling him towards the diner and talking about treating him to lunch. Kyle turned back to give Kenny a wave as he was dragged off in the wave of girls. Karen noticed her brother and gave a half smile before shuffling off with the older girls. Kenny had the sudden, painful feeling that this wouldn’t be the last time he saw this image.  </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Halloween</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Take a fucking sips babes the halloween chapter is here!!!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>When Kyle woke that Monday morning, his mind hadn’t caught up to the day’s date. To him, it wasn’t special in the slightest. In the city, this particular day had never been a cause of much excitement, outside of people pressing the buzzer to the apartment ad nauseum. However, as Kyle reached the mess hall, he immediately noted the sixth and seventh grade boarders wearing masks, currently around their necks or perched on their heads so they could eat. A gutted and carved pumpkin on a dining table greeted Kyle at the door, as well as Jimmy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “H-happy hah-hah-hallow-wuh-ween,” Jimmy beamed. He was dressed in clothes that weren’t any different to his usual choice of attire, save for a piece of black fabric fashioned into a cape.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Happy Halloween to you too, Jimmy,” Kyle responded, “Are you a vampire?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Cuh-correct. Are you druh-druh-dressed as Orphan A-A-Annie?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Kyle rolled his eyes but still gave a laugh as he walked with the brunet over to their usual seats with Tweek and Clyde. As of the moment, Tweek looked frantic, tugging at his hair and twitching more than usual.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Is everything alright?” Kyle asked. Clyde responded with a raised eyebrow and Tweek took that as an opportunity to let out a particularly loud “Gah!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “There’re ghosts, ngh. Ghosts!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I do not understand how Craig manages to calm him so well. Look!” Clyde reached a hand out to place upon the jittery blond’s shoulder only for him to jerk away whilst throwing a fist that Clyde just about dodged.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Suh-suh-so how did your duh-duh-date go?” Jimmy asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Kyle yawned, letting his brain catch up to the question. He was currently staring at his porridge. He was getting sick of having porridge almost every morning. The word “date” finally seemed to reach his mind but it still took a bit for Kyle to come up with a response.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “It wasn't a date, not really. Unless I was some kind of bigamist.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You’re damn right it wasn’t a date,” Clyde said, “We aren’t together right now but Bebe’s my girl.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Kyle was suddenly very appreciative of the porridge in his mouth because it meant that he didn’t have to think of something to say to Clyde until he swallowed it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “She doesn’t even like you,” Tweek replied as he held his spoon with an unsteady hand, his one eye squeezed shut. Jimmy snorted at that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Oh shut up, you two.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Di-didn’t she start seeing you over shoes?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “No, she did not. She just told people that after we broke it off,” at this Clyde had his arms crossed and his face was turning red.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Don’t worry, I’m not interested in Bebe.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Good,” Clyde smiled but then he frowned and furrowed his brows, “Wait, why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “We just don’t have much in common. She’s a nice enough girl but she’s not the kind of girl I tend to go for.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “And what type of girl would that be?” Clyde was so offended on Bebe’s behalf that Kyle was actually a little amused.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I don’t know. Girls that are taller for me, for one.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “That’s w-weird,” Tweek said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Kyle shrugged and breakfast continued as normal, conversation safely shifted away from him and Bebe. Kyle thought Bebe was beautiful but he just didn’t feel anything for her. He hadn’t felt anything for any of Bebe’s friends. Heidi, the girl with mousy hair, was frantic and insecure whilst Wendy, the dark haired girl, was aloof and sarcastic. The others faded into the background so the only other girl of note was Karen and she was far too young for him. Even if she were old enough for him to think of as a girl he might date, she was far too timid and skinny. Not that he would say something like to Kenny who clearly adored his sister. Kyle thought that Karen was a perfectly sweet girl from his brief encounters with her, even if she was painfully shy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Kyle had to sit through another few hours of mediocre lessons in Mr Garrison’s classroom at his horribly carved up desk. It was during a lecture on syntax that Kyle almost fell asleep. He would have had he not been jerked out of his sleepiness by a thump to his right. He turned to the window to see a crow that had flown into the glass. As it fell, its beak left a crack, a gust of chilly air blew through the new opening. Kyle pulled the sweater he’d found in lost property around himself more tightly. Everyone else in the room was looking too. Tweek gave a pull on his hair announcing that it was “too much pressure” while Craig attempted to soothe him. A single black feather sat on the windowsill.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Kyle’s Latin lesson was cancelled since Choksondik was taken ill after a group of children jumped out at her wearing skeleton masks on her way to work that morning. Apparently the girls in her class had principal Victoria cover for them which they were over the moon about as she was a much better teacher than Choksondik. Kyle sat on his bed reading ‘The Great Gatsby.’ It was a novel that Christophe had gifted him because he thoroughly believed it was a masterpiece. Kyle didn’t see it as much more than a cheap crime novel but he did enjoy Fitzgerald’s prose nonetheless. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He had been staring at a page for a few minutes before he realised that he hadn’t actually read anything in awhile. His mind was wandering, particularly about whether he would see Kenny tonight and if they would talk with one another again. He enjoyed their chats. Kenny didn’t say all that much but his succinct responses were usually insightful or amusing in some way. Kyle didn’t know if it was right for him to pursue Kenny the way he wanted to or if it might scare the other boy away. No matter how sure Kyle was that Kenny was attracted to him, he knew that pushing it might spook the boy. Some people are very flighty at the mention of homosexual behaviour and Kyle found his friendship with the blond was something he had started to value.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Classes must’ve been over because Kyle was startled from his ponderings by Tweek entering the room. The frazzled boy eyed him and Kyle waved which only seemed to cause further distress. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Can I ask you a, ngh, a question?” Tweek asked. Kyle put his book down and straightened his back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Of course you can Tweek. What’s the matter?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Have you seen Pip?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Pip? I’m sorry but I don’t know who that is.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You have his desk! Apparently everyone who sits at his desk sees him!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Well I haven’t. I don’t understand. Is Pip a ghost?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Gah! Yes, and everyone who sits at his desk has seen him! He jumped out a window twenty years ago.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Well, I don’t think I’ve seen him but I also don’t know what he looks like.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “He’s blond and short and he’s French or something. Wears a bow tie.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Well, I’ll let you know if I do.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>“Nodon’t!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Tweek said in a rush of words that Kyle struggled to hear, “I don’t wanna know if you see him! That’s too much pressure.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Kyle attempted to resume his reading but he could feel Tweek staring at him, his eye twitching and his nervous fussings were louder and more frequent than usual. Kyle thought it best that he leave since he couldn’t shake off the feeling of being observed by the boy. He sighed, turning the corner of his page and placing it on his bedside table before swinging his legs around the side of his bed so he could slip his shoes on. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Wh-where are you going?” Tweek’s voice had a scratchy quality he hadn’t really heard until now. He figured he sounded that way from all of his screaming.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I’m just going to get some air,” Kyle answered. He grabbed a piece of gum and put it in his mouth. He was probably going to walk around the school grounds until he bumped into Kenny. Although he was worried about getting the other boy into trouble if he was working. He didn’t want Kenny to be seen as slacking off; he was well aware that Kenny couldn’t jeopardise his work or else he would risk his sister’s education. Stan had gone home since football practice had been cancelled too which meant he couldn’t go talk to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Be careful!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I will.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Kyle liked Stan plenty. He was a good sort even if he tended to be wrapped up in himself most of the time. He wasn’t someone you could have brilliantly intellectual or deep conversations with which was probably why Wendy hadn’t shown an interest in him since they were children. Aside from that though, he was a considerate boy who liked to joke around and he went out of his way to include all of his friends in the conversation so he could ensure no one was left out. He could be quite thoughtless at times. He often wanted to play sports despite the fact Jimmy couldn’t join in. The boy always said he was the referee and Kyle figured that Stan thought that meant he was fine with it but Kyle had his doubts. Beyond that though, Stan was supportive and often checked in with Kyle about how he was adjusting and if Cartman was bothering him too much.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Stan was a perfectly good friend and Kyle was happy to have him but more often than not Kyle wanted to spend time with Kenny. He thought that Kenny understood him more than the others. Everyone had been hit hard by the crash but most of the Park County students didn’t see much beyond smaller meals and clothing made from flour sacks. Kyle, who had seen so much death caused by the depression, felt that Kenny was also aware of the human suffering that it had brought. Kenny was also more mature than the other boys, though he tried to hide it under dirty jokes, and Kyle felt the same way. He had seen things through adult eyes for a long time, no matter how much his mother had tried to shelter him. Kyle thought that he and Kenny were mature in different ways but that they were both more adult than the others. Kenny also never bothered Kyle too much about what the city was like, which was often the only thing people talked to him about the city. Usually, Clyde only bothered to talk to him directly if he suddenly felt some curiosity about what it was like there. Even Stan’s favourite topic of conversation was the city.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Kyle examined the staircase in front of him. The new planks of wood stood out in stark contrast to the rotted old ones that groaned and bowed when you put your feet on to them. To have the ground beneath one’s self be firm and sturdy was definitely preferable. When he remembered that the boards had only been replaced because Kenny had fallen down them, Kyle frowned. Kenny had brushed it off but looking at where the new steps began, Kyle was sure that the boy had had a very nasty fall. He would have insisted that he check the boy over for any injuries had Bebe not pulled him away. To some extent, he was a little glad that she did since that was very much something his mother would do and his father always called her a “nagging mother hen” behind her back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> As he passed the window next to the steps, Kyle noted a gathering out in the yard. A large collection of students congregated around something. It was either a fight or one of those Halloween traditions that were peculiar to rural communities. He squinted, trying to make sense of it, to see what was in the middle of the circle but it was too difficult from this high up. Kyle was also trying, just a bit, to delay his wandering around the second floor. He constantly found himself led to the abandoned corridor no matter how sure he was that he was moving in the opposite direction to it. Stan told Kyle it had once been a thriving arts department a decade ago. He also mentioned that there were a lot of silly stories people told about it, that it was haunted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Kyle didn’t know for sure if he believed in ghosts. His old teacher had simply believed it was a possible answer to a variety of phenomena and spoke a few pieces of evidence and ideas proposed by the occult movement, many of which had since been disproven or debunked. Kyle wasn’t interested in the sciences like his little brother was, but the main conclusion from his old professor was to assess everything seriously and to be open minded because much of what he knew today might have sounded just as ludicrous as ghosts one hundred years ago. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Kyle was a little bit closer to wholly believing in ghosts when he was in the abandoned corridor. It was colder than the rest of the school and darker. The darkness was explained easily though, the lights in this part hadn’t been replaced in years so you couldn’t turn them on. This darkness seemed to elongate the walls and allowed the corridor to stretch on and on, seemingly for forever. Even with a window at the end, it seemed as though light didn’t want to penetrate here. The floorboards creaked more and when you walked down it but it was like you were weightless when you moved. It felt like gliding, like being pulled on a string towards the window and then past it to the courtyard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Kyle? What are you doing here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Breaking out of his trance, Kyle suddenly became very aware that he was once again standing in the old arts corridor. He felt lightheaded as he realised it, staring at the vast darkness in front of him. Night had fallen quickly today, much more quickly than usual. Kenny had set his broom down and was making his way towards the redhead with brisk steps.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Sorry, Kenny,” Kyle began, “I was just walking and I ended up here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Are you sick?” The blond leaned forward to look at Kyle, holding his arm to keep him in place.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I’m fine, really,” Kyle said, pushing the blond back so his face was no longer hovering so close to his own. “Kenny, do you believe ghosts?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Kenny’s shock was immediate but it quickly turned to confusion as the blond cocked his head to the side.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Uh, no. Why would that be?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “It’s just Tweek-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Kyle, Tweek’s certifiable. Don’t tell me you’ve been letting him fill your head with nonsense.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Have you ever heard of Pip?” Kyle interjected, his arms were folded and eyebrows raised. He took the lightness off of his tone and his words were sharp. Kenny straightened up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “He’s a kid that died on school property before either of us were born. Why do you want to know about him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “How did he die?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “There’s a different story for every person you ask. He got locked out of the dorms and froze to death, someone pushed him down the incinerator chute, he jumped out a window, he was crushed by a rock... there’s really an endless amount of violent ways the kid apparently died but I don’t know which one is true.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I have his desk.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What? What do you mean?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I have his desk in homeroom and to be honest, it’s odd. It’s got these long scratches on it and a bunch of eyes carved all over and everyone’s seat is pulled away from it. Tweek said anyone who gets assigned his seat will see his ghost.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Are you scared?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “No. I just wanted to know if you’d heard of it or if it was something Tweek dreamt up or was told by Cartman.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I’ve heard of the Pip haunting or whatever anyone else wants to call it but it’s not real. Someone probably scratched up the desk to add to the story and if everyone thinks the desk is cursed then no wonder all the desks are pulled away from it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I suppose so but there has to be something that started the story.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yeah, a kid died and someone lied about seeing his ghost. Clyde probably set Tweek up to tell you about it and is probably planning a Halloween trick on you. I bet he’ll dress Tweek up as Pip and try to spook you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Well, it won’t work. I’m not afraid of ghosts and Tweek would find it “too much pressure.””</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Kyle tugged at his hair to complete the impersonation. Kenny chuckled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Alright then, if you say so.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> The two spoke some more, Kyle following Kenny as he worked and trying to help where he could. The congregation of students outside, the arts corridor and the ghost of Pip were soon forgotten. Kenny talked about celebrating Halloween as a boy, mostly the pranks he would pull with the other boys. It was mostly simple pranks such as flour bombs and eggs however there were a few that were more elaborate. For example, they had collected spiders for a week leading up to Halloween and unleashed them on an old woman who always ratted them out to their parents for getting into mischief. He also spoke about how he and Karen tried to make costumes out of whatever they could find but that they mostly reused the same white sheets with holes cut into them. They never had money to buy a pumpkin but sometimes they might get a rotten one from the patch for free. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> They must have been talking for a lot longer than they realised because the bell chimed, signaling that it was time for dinner. The two boys walked down to the mess hall together. Kyle stopped in his tracks upon noticing that there were still a few people gathered outside. Not nearly as many as there had been earlier but it was strange how many there were still outside given that it was mealtime.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What on earth is happening out there?” Kenny asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I don’t know but I think it’s best not to get involved.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Today’s meal was referred to as chilli but was actually just beans and rice with canned tomatoes and nothing else. Kenny told Kyle he would prefer to eat in his shack tonight and left him alone. His usual seat with Clyde, Tweek and Jimmy was there. He greeted the boys who were chatting animatedly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Did you see it?” Clyde asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “See what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “The cuh-cuh-crow!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “A crow?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “A dead one! There’s a whole bunch of dead -ugh- ones outside. Nobody- ngh- knows why,” Tweek answered, eye twitching again as he spoke. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Maybe someone poisoned some bird feed for Halloween.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “That sounds like something Cartman would do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Kyle grimaced as he raised his spoon to his mouth. The more he heard about Cartman, the more disturbed he was. It was as though the boy was comically unhinged. He tuned out of the dead bird talk for the moment so that he could hopefully eat without his stomach turning itself inside out. He thought of the black wings blotting out the sun for a moment as the crow had thrown itself against his window earlier. He screwed his eyes shut as though that might keep out the sound of its body hitting the glass.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He finished eating in silence and excused himself in very few words. He was the first out of the mess hall, most people still chatting amongst themselves whilst they scooped up their chilli. Kyle hadn’t actually eaten all of his food but he felt too ill to finish it, something he had to explain to Mr Garrison who demanded to know why he had so much left. He was let off but told to go straight to his room, which Kyle had been planning to do anyway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> A shiver ran through his whole body as he found himself back on the second floor. He was beginning to hate it. He tried to single mindedly focus on getting to the dormitories, to not find himself at the arts department. He ignored the scratching sound, the dying caws that seemed to rattle every window he passed. Once again, the icy corridor had called out to him and he had unwittingly followed its siren song. He clapped his hands over his ears and pivoted around towards the dorms. He finally found the mismatched staircase and found himself almost running to get away from the second floor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He felt his heartbeat begin to settle to a slow steady pace once he was safe from the winding chasm below. It was irrational. Completely insane to be scared of an entire level of a building. Only at night, he told himself. He couldn’t seem to tell left from right down there at night and he became petrified. If he was with other people, he was fine too. It was only when he was alone in the dark he seemed to be at the mercy of whichever way the corridors wanted to lead him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He leant back against the hardwood door, glad to close out the darkness in his dorm room. He let his breath even out and his eyes slip shut. There was nothing to be afraid of. It was only a set of difficult to navigate hallways, nothing more. As he felt sense returned to him, he picked up on a strange sharp smell. Looking over the room he noticed that there was a lump beneath his blankets. His pulse stilled again and, though he didn’t want to, he approached. Kyle felt that he already knew what was waiting for him and he had to face it now despite his best wishes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He thought he was prepared but the cruel trickster had gone above and beyond. On his bed, there was a dead crow. Kyle had expected that but what he hadn’t expected was the body of the bird to be split open, eyes plucked out and blood smeared in his sheets. It seemed as though someone had tried to draw something on his bed sheet but their hand was too unsteady to make anything comprehensible. Bile rushed up Kyle’s throat and he ran to empty his stomach in the toilet. As he kneeled there, forehead pressed to the porcelain, one name ran through his head. Cartman.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Aftermath</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This is the first fully spicy chapter &gt;:3c the explicit stuff is at the end of the chapter</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Having finished dinner before everyone else, Kyle was able to hastily strip his bed and steal a blanket, pillowcase and flat sheet from an unoccupied bed down the hall. All that was left was disposing of the dead bird. Kyle had wrapped its remains in his blood smeared bottom sheet. Simply dropping it out of the window wasn’t an option; it would be found rather quickly and he would be the obvious culprit. He had to find somewhere for it but wandering around aimlessly to find the right place meant he would be caught with the crow. Time was slipping away and Kyle had to make a decision. He then remembered the incinerator chute downstairs that he’d helped Kenny with earlier. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Kyle made sure that the bundle was tightly wrapped so that the blood wouldn’t seep through onto his clothes. Tucking the makeshift shroud beneath his arm, Kyle made his way towards the stairwell. He paused every now and then to check for the slightest suggestion of a sound but presently all was silent. He stepped lightly on the rotting stair rungs so that they wouldn’t creak beneath his weight. Once he made it to the bottom of the stairs, where the sturdy new steps had been installed, his footfalls became more steady. The second floor was typically dark, the lights were rarely turned on and Kyle thought it best not to feel around for a light switch. Instead he let his mind stop any attempts of navigation and relied on his feet to lead him to the same place that his feet always wanted to take him to. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He was swiftly faced with the large window at the end of the arts corridor. Earlier he felt himself being pulled towards it. He just wanted to get closer and closer to the moon outside. The new moon had passed and on this Halloween night, it was a waxing crescent, just starting to build up to a full moon. A full moon would have been much more romantic on a holiday such as this but the universe had not permitted it. Despite the fact that the moon was only a crack of white in the vastness of the dark sky, it glowed as clear and bright as ever. Kyle had already taken note of how warm and yellow this moon’s light was as opposed to the icy blue beams of the city. This rural moon’s hue was much cosier. He knew of the gravity that the moon had, how it controlled the tides and suddenly it seemed that he was just as beholden to its whims.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>Scratch Scratch</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span> Kyle nearly dropped the bundle beneath his arm, startled by the rats running around behind the closet door. He felt as though he had just emerged from a murky pond where the coldness of the water is imperceivable until the air hits your wet skin in frosty bites, making you gasp as you break through the surface. The same disorienting sensation you get when you realise your limbs are no longer supported by the water; your body is no longer suspended and cradled in the current but you’re able to breathe again. Kyle shook his head sharply, half expecting droplets of water to fly from his curls but they were dry. Even with his thick wool sweater on, gooseflesh rose on his arms.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> The incinerator. He was here for the incinerator, to get rid of the bird. He turned around, back to the junction between the language classrooms and the arts corridor. He wrestled with the incinerator door, the sound it made when the rusty thing finally gave in was akin to nails on a chalkboard and it sent a horrible shiver through Kyle’s body that only added to his nausea. He deposited the corpse and sheet and slammed the door shut. With his mind singularly focused on getting to his bed and pretending this whole thing never happened, he found and climbed the stairs in record time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> As he shut the door to his shared room behind him, he realised that there was no lock. None of the dorms were locked which was why he had so easily stolen a new set of sheets. That meant anyone who had the desire to get in could do so. Kyle quickly rifled through his trunk to make sure nothing had been tampered with or stolen, then his bedside table. His books and clothes were intact and nothing seemed to be missing. Throwing a look towards the door, Kyle began to undress before pulling his bed shirt over his head. He lay down, the mattress beneath him felt hard and the sheets starchy and rough. He thought that his old sheets had been the same but he couldn’t say for certain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> His dorm mates arrived, settling into their own beds as the lights were switched off throughout the school, plunging everything into darkness. Kyle tried to sleep but he often found himself listening out for any kind of creaking in the halls or staring at the vague shape of the door only just visible in the darkness. There was no light in the passage beyond so Kyle couldn’t tell if someone was at the door based on shadows. He simply stared, occasionally he would jerk in the direction of any sound he heard, as though he might have caught something that didn’t come in through the door. The window pane rattled in the wind, a spray of rain hitting it in a steady rhythm. Usually, Kyle would drift off to this sound but right now he only cursed the downpour for the noises it may be drowning out.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>When Kyle woke up that morning, he didn’t remember going to sleep. In fact, he had fought sleep as hard as he possibly could in order to keep watch for anyone who might have snuck in. During the morning, he felt jittery, wanting to be back up in his room. It was hard to explain. Kyle didn’t have anything of especial sentimental value in his belongings, nor did he keep a diary. He did have his letters which were private but there was nothing too devastating that could be revealed from them. Nonetheless, the idea of having nowhere he might keep anything safe was plaguing him. He felt completely exposed with no way to be protected.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> The dead bird prank had been revolting. Kyle could only imagine the disease carried by the bird and the gory image had been staring back at him whenever he looked down to eat, making his appetite even worse. Kyle knew this must be what Cartman wanted, to let Kyle know he knew where he slept and that he could find Kyle while he slept. Kyle didn’t know much of what the boy was capable of and he hadn’t felt afraid of him until now. That was why Kyle decided he needed to make the other boy understand that he was just as unsafe in his equally unguarded dorm room.  He had no plan yet, only to figure out where the boy slept and to go from there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He had been unfocused during class, feeling the ridges etched into his desk digging into his arms. He felt himself wanting to slip into sleep after his restless night, only to be snapped out of it by Garrison slapping a ruler down hard upon his desk. Kyle was given a warning and threatened with a more severe reprimand if he was caught sleeping in class again. Kyle tried to follow the lesson on US history, but he was bored by the childishly simple narratives of the founding fathers. Kyle just stared at the blank pages of his exercise book. He was startled out of it by the chiming bell. Stan frowned from his chair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Are you alright?” The black haired boy asked as they got out into the hallway. Kyle looked at the other boy, eyebrows in a soft furrow and lip worried by his teeth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “It’s hard to explain,” Kyle answered. He had, up until now appreciated Stan checking in on him about Cartman because Kyle could easily state that he was handling it himself. Now, he wasn’t so sure and admitting that he felt that fat idiot was besting him in anyway was humiliating. He didn’t want to lie to Stan about being fine, they had only just become friends and Kyle didn’t want to be the one pushing him away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Did... did you see Pip?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What?” Kyle felt the previous, grounded concerns ripped from his mind at the question.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Pip... the dead kid. You sit at his desk and it was Halloween yesterday so I thought you might have seen him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “No, I haven’t. Tweek asked me the same thing though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “So you’ve been in your head about it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “No, not really. I’m not afraid of ghosts. It’s just that some pulled a trick on me yesterday that was a little over the line and I’m having trouble shaking it off.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What happened?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Kyle paused, running his tongue over his teeth and suddenly wishing he had some gum to chew.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You weren’t here when it went down but there were all these dead crows...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Believe me, Kyle, I know about that. They’re still a whole lot of them outside. The groundskeeper tried to deal with them but...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Kenny, you mean?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Uh, yeah. Do you know him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yes, he’s a good sort. We chat together sometimes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Well anyway, Kenny had to go to bed some time so there were all these dead birds scattered around the courtyard this morning too. I don’t know exactly how he got rid of them all but I saw a few this morning.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Well, it goes a little beyond that for me. Promise me you’ll stay calm?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What did you do?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “</span>
  <em>
    <span>I </span>
  </em>
  <span>didn’t do anything, Stanley,” Kyle cleared his throat, “I have things under control so I want you to promise me that you won’t get animated when I tell you what happened.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Okay, okay. The suspense is killing me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Someone took one of those dead crows and put it in my bed. They didn’t stop there though. They mutilated it and smeared its blood all over my sheets.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Christ, that’s twisted. Did you tell the matron?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Stan, do you think I’m stupid? Doing that is only going to make things worse.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I’m not so sure about that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Trust me, Stan, it would. I know how to deal with this myself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “If you’re certain. That’s a sick thing to do. No wonder you’ve not been yourself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yes. I’m a little shaken but I really have dealt with worse. I just wasn’t suspecting that worse would follow me here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> They then adjourned with the rest of the group for lunch wherein Stan relayed some of the best tricks that had been played the previous night. A group of elementary schoolers had stolen twenty outhouses and lined them up against the entrance to town hall. Some kids had set a fire in the town square which didn’t really sound like a prank and more like mindless arson but everyone at the table was amused by it. Lastly, another group had gotten into the manure at the Marsh house and had been throwing it at their window. Stan’s father had grabbed his shotgun and ran outside to chase the kids off, only for a clump of it to hit his face. Kyle had laughed so hard at that story that tears had collected in his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Apparently the mayor is really angry about it all, though” Stan sighed, “She says she won’t have the sheriffs be lenient on pranksters next year.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Th-that would ruh-ruh-ruin Halloween!” Jimmy exclaimed which made Tweek jump a little and clap his hands over his ears. Craig glared at Jimmy for his outburst and the brunet had the decency to look a little apologetic.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> The boys continued their recourse on Halloween’s potential ruination whilst Kyle stewed somewhat on the fact that he needed to take action against Cartman but plotting wasn't his strong suit. Kyle was impulsive and his usual response to malice was quick and immediate because the malice he had faced so far had never been calculated. People hated him on sight because he was Jewish and that hatred very rarely warranted more than being spat at or some other kind of sudden attack. In school, it had been a coordinated effort of isolation or snide jabs that he’d had to endure with his head held high because fighting on school grounds would have lost him more than his scholarship. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Since Cartman had gone to the effort of cowardly sneaking behind his back to leave a mangled bird on his bed, Kyle wasn’t sure that beating him bloody would be an effective form of retaliation and he was only really propelled to violence in the moment as opposed to afterwards. Moreover, he had no evidence of provocation if they were caught fighting. Kyle had actually been surprised that Cartman hadn’t come to gloat or had even given him any kind of smirk all day but the boy was probably aware that he was a hair trigger away from losing every tooth in his mouth if he approached Kyle so soon after the trick. There was also the question of plausible deniability, he might have thought Kyle stupid enough to think he hadn’t done it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Well, Kyle didn’t have any evidence that Cartman had done it. This was something that stuck in his mind as he chewed a particularly tough piece of chicken from his stew. However, Kyle had no clue who else would do it. No one else had a grudge against him and Clyde claimed that it was in line with Cartman’s character to have killed the birds in the first place so cutting one open and placing it in Kyle’s bed seemed to be something he would do. Moreover, if Butters had mentioned to Cartman that he shared a room with Kyle then Cartman would have known where he slept. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> The unfortunate issue was that Kyle had no easy access to information about which room Cartman slept in. He might even stay in the infirmary since his mother works at the school as a nurse. Even if Kyle knew where Cartman slept, what would he do? He was revolted at the thought of playing the same prank back, not to mention the fact that it probably wouldn’t bother Cartman. He knew little of the fat brunet’s psychology beyond the fact that he was an unhinged coward and a bigot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Kyle returned to his dorm after lunch as there were no elective classes on Tuesdays. He had said his goodbyes with his friends who were going to play football outside, excusing himself by not feeling up for it. When he entered the room, he noted that Pete had pulled out his trunk from beneath his bed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Kyle asked, putting his hands on his hips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You look like my mother doing that,” Pete responded, waving him off, “Can I read this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Pete held up his copy of Dorian Gray. Kyle folded his arms.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You should ask before you go through other people’s belongings.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I wouldn’t have known that you had it if I didn’t,” Pete flipped a long hanging piece of hair from his face. Kyle wasn’t sure if that was a deliberate style choice or if the boy had simply gotten a bad haircut. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Can I borrow it or not?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Go ahead.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Kyle figured it was easier to acquiesce to the boy’s demands than it was to refuse him and whilst he usually wouldn’t just relinquish his things because it was easier than arguing, today he felt such a profound tiredness that he honestly couldn’t find the energy to do so. Pete grinned to himself, not bothering to put away the books he had scattered around the floor and hopped up onto his own bed, getting ready to read.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I don’t know why you spend all your time with such conformists. Your taste in literature is far too elevated for the likes of Stan Marsh and Clyde Donovan.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Well, they’re perfectly nice and they don’t have a tendency to make judgemental remarks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “To you,” Pete said but then paused for a moment, “Or to your face at least.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Kyle rolled his eyes as he gathered his books and messily dropped them into his trunk, not bothering to organise them for now and then he kicked the trunk back to its original position beneath the bed before he collapsed onto the mattress. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He felt frustrated and pent up in a way he hadn’t in a long time. He had been here for over a week now and he hadn’t masturbated once. It wasn’t easy to masturbate at home since he shared a room with Ike but his little brother often spent time at his friends’ house or he might be out at some kind of competition or convention for gifted children. When he was stuck with his little brother, he’d usually just go and find someone he could fool around with for the night. Here, he was never really alone. People could come in whenever it pleased them to do so. Kyle must have been lucky enough to sleep through his roommates’ masturbating or they felt just as worked up as himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> It was here that his thoughts led him back to Kenny. He was aware that he found Kenny handsome and that before he had tentatively agreed that he would be willing to sleep with the other boy. However, now, he was being infiltrated with thoughts of the other boy inside of him, hitching Kyle’s legs over his hips as he drove into him, Kyle pressed against a wall as the other boy took him completely. These thoughts did nothing to help him, he only felt more aroused. The images had invaded the forefront of his mind when he thought of the niggling frustration of being unable to get off for a week. He didn’t even have a way to wash his sheets. Kyle wondered how obvious it would be if he secluded himself to the washroom with the door barricaded shut. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I’m going to take a bath,” Kyle announced to no one in particular. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “There isn’t any hot water for a bath,” Pete said, looking up from Dorian Gray. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I’ll make do, I’ve been feeling ill.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> With that, Kyle was able to shut the door behind himself and turned on the creaky faucets over the tub up even though icy cold water sputtered out of both of them. Kyle couldn’t take his time with his task; he unbuttoned his trousers and removed his shirt whilst he lay with his back against the door, he pulled himself out to his trousers and pumped his cock quickly, keeping his mouth firmly shut. He imagined the rough feeling of Kenny’s hands on his waist as the other boy held him up, the musky smell of his cigarettes, how Kyle would claw at the other boy’s back to bring them closer so that their bodies were flush together. If he had been alone with no fears of intruders, he would have opened himself up with his fingers and tried to imagine it was Kenny instead. Kyle would bite at the other boy’s throat as he fucked him hard and fast. Perhaps they would do it on the floor instead and Kyle would feel the coarse grains of wood against his bare back as Kenny relentlessly pounded into him, in search of his own release, whilst stroking Kyle’s cock that was pressed in between their stomachs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> It wasn’t difficult to finish and Kyle knew when it was coming. He swallowed down his noises and caught his release with another hand so he wouldn’t have to scrub the floor. It webbed between his fingers and Kyle scrunched his nose up at the sight. This had always been his least favourite part of the experience. He held his hand under the stream of water. The bath was of a reasonable depth but he didn’t dare wade within its frosty depths so he washed himself over it with a sponge and a bar of soap like he would do at the sink most nights. It was refreshing to scrub away the sweat that clung to his skin. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Sorry that it's been awhile since the last upload, I was hammering out some plot related stuff before I just dove in with another published chapter so that the story thread was coherent what with the spooky shit and why it was happening.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Inferno</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>slightly shorter chapter this time</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Kenny found that November passed as it always did, like a shapeless grey mass wherein days bleed into one another without anything of note that might separate or distinguish them. The month yielded Thanksgiving but no one had celebrated it in a long while with no food to spare for a feast and nothing to give thanks for. The presidential election had come and gone. The adults were abuzz over Roosevelt’s landslide win with the faculty ecstatic and Kenny’s father furious. Wendy Testaburger was the only person Kenny’s age that cared any about the election. None of them had any reason to follow the campaigns of either candidate since they were another five years away from voting. As a result, the political intrigue of the month was little more than background noise.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Kenny found there were only two people who coloured and shaped the last dreary month of Autumn: Karen and Kyle. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> The latter was a surprise, but Kenny still threw him a smile as the boy leant against the wall, chewing a piece of gum with vigour in between complaints about his latest history lesson. Specifically, the redhead was ranting about the fact that Garrison had presented the Salem Witch Trials as nothing more than an example of mass hysteria.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “It was clearly orchestrated by the Putnams who brought Samuel Parris to the village in the first place,” Kyle seethed, gum pressed against his cheek so he could give his speech without choking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I always thought it was people going nuts. The girls had those fits and everyone got scared,” Kenny replied. He removed a new cigarette from his pocket, lighting it with the butt of his old one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “No, no. The girls who had fits were related to the Putnams or Parris. They were most likely told to accuse Tituba who was likely coached into giving testimony by Parris since she was his slave. The accusations against their enemies came from visions and dreams had by Tituba and the girls.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Not everyone who died were enemies of the Putnam’s, like that guy who was crushed with stones.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “They were trying to gain political control of the colony by way of puritanical fear so anyone who dissented or spoke against the trials had to be put on trial. Corey was killed because he refused to throw himself on the mercy of Parris.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I don’t really understand why it’s so important whether it was planned or not. People died either way.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Because, if we believe that it wasn’t orchestrated, then we’re only setting ourselves up to be tricked again,” Kyle had his hands on his hips as he said this, head cocked as though he was a school teacher. Kenny chuckled at the boy’s pompous tone as he spoke. The redhead tended to seem as though he thought himself cleverer than anyone else. At first Kenny thought that this was because he was from the city, but then he heard the boy talking about the “gormless” schoolmates he had at Wells and realised that Kyle was just stubborn and conceited which ran contrary to a previous discussion about whether ghosts exist, wherein Kyle asserted that it was important to be open minded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Nonetheless, Kenny enjoyed the little debates he would have with Kyle. In spite of his demeanour, the fact that Kyle often tried to appeal to Kenny’s reason gave the boy the sense that he was seen as an intellectual equal. He never brushed off Kenny’s retorts but rather evaluated them as important points before answering. The debates never ended with a clear winner either. Kyle usually found himself going off on a tangent and forgetting the argument entirely and Kenny had always preferred to listen than to talk. Kenny smiled as he watched the boy’s hands wave about as he began a diatribe about the way Parris’ manipulations could be used again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> This afternoon, Kyle was in higher spirits than he had been for at least a week. Kyle had seemed withdrawn and tired when he spoke with Kenny, his train of thought getting lost as he spoke. Even today, Kenny noted that Kyle’s under eyes were dark and his skin was sallow. He had always been pale, but he usually had a rosy tint to his cheeks and nose. Presently he looked drained of all colour. His lips were still pink, but they were like muted begonia petals as opposed to their usual strawberry red.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Kenny had asked if he was alright, but the boy always shook off such a question as trouble sleeping. Kenny didn’t doubt that, but he thought it went further than restless nights. Kenny had found him standing in the arts corridor, just staring at the window at the end of it. He would sway slightly but in general he would behave as though he were sleepwalking. The redhead would start if you spoke to him in this state and look about himself as if he had no memory of getting there in the first place. Kenny clenched his fist.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Say, Kenny,” Kyle began, eyes brightening as he turned to look at his friend, “Why are you so sure that it was mass hysteria anyway?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Well, I don’t think I’m as set in my belief as you but it’s just what I was taught. Not to mention believing in witches is a silly thing and it all kicked off with the fits. I think they all went crazy for a bit there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “But people then really did believe in witches and they were capable of reason. They didn’t hang a man because he could recite a prayer, if they were hysterical then they wouldn;t bother with a trial. Instead, they followed logic, one that came from books about witches. Just because their logic is ridiculous to us doesn’t mean it was to them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “But if it was orchestrated, they wouldn’t have let him get away.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “But that’s just it, Kenny. You see, if someone accused a Putnam or a Parris then those rules were their assurance that they weren’t witches.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> The debate continued, albeit one-sidedly as Kenny watched the last of his cigarette burn away. The Friday afternoon was chilly but you could’ve easily mistaken it for ten o’clock in the evening with the way the dark had descended upon them. Kenny thought that it got darker earlier every year.  He considered getting another cigarette but they weren’t cheap and he’d been on break for a while. He smiled as his companion continued to lecture him about the Putnams but Kenny had to stop the redhead eventually.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I hate to interrupt you but I have to refill the boiler if we want any hot water tonight.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “That’s alright, would you like me to come along or has my company become tiresome?” This was said with a grin and raised brow that suggested that Kyle’s self-deprecation was in jest only. Kenny gave him a shove though he put no real force into it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You’re conceited as all hell,” he chuckled, “But I can’t actually have you come with me. If you got injured down there I’d be in deep shit.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I’m not a klutz,” Kyle rolled his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “The boiler room is a death trap, Broflovski. I’m lucky I haven’t killed myself down there yet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “They should really fix it then, I’d prefer you not to die.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “It’d cost too much to fix it up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Well, try not to die then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I was planning to break my neck on the stairs but I’ll reconsider since you asked.”</span>
</p><p><span> Kyle snorted, hands covering his mouth in the way he always did when he laughed and Kenny grinned beneath his heavy coat as Kyle did so. The two bid one another farewell for the evening. Kenny watched his friend retreat into the stone building, he waved before he entered and then </span> <span>Kenny turned to head to his shack so that he could gather everything he needed to as well as remove his coat. On his way, his foot hit another dead crow. Whatever had caused the mass exodus on Halloween hadn’t stopped. The theory that someone had poisoned them for a prank was quickly thrown out and people were starting to speculate that something else was happening. </span></p><p>
  <span> In particular, many of the deaths were more than just crows dropping from the sky mid flight but rather them flying into windows. Whatever it was, it made Kenny’s job much more difficult as he was constantly having to take them to the incinerator. It was uncomfortably bleak, the raining black feathers and omnipresence of death at the school. Crows were carrion birds that fed on death and picked corpses clean so to see them be the dead thing felt wrong. With them dying in large swathes everyday, Kenny wondered what was left to do their job?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of his daily tasks, Kenny hated stocking the boiler the most. The heat of the furnace was so strong that Kenny always ended up drenched in his own sweat. The steps leading down to it were unevenly spaced which meant you were at a constant risk of tripping down or up them if you didn’t put your attention solely on walking up and down them with a slow gait. This was further exacerbated by the lack of bannister and the fact that Kenny was usually carrying a heavy bag of coal with him. Most of the time he would sit on the step and slowly scoot down them, hands gripping the wooden boards and pulling the coal behind him. On top of all of that, Kenny always left the boiler room with his hands and face caked in soot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> The only light in the room came from the roaring furnace which splashed the room in a red light that only just illuminated the crumbling brick walls that housed the boiler. It hadn’t always been a boiler room, the boiler itself only having been installed five or so years ago. Kenny wasn’t sure what it had been used for before then, though. The school had tried to substitute the trash from the incinerator for coal but usually found that it didn’t burn correctly. The room was oddly shaped; it would be a perfect square if not for a small section in the corner of the room that cut across diagonally as opposed to meeting at a single point. The bricks were old, the same as the ones that built the room so it was unlikely that it had anything to do with the pipes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Kenny quickly opened the boiler door, a gust of steam escaping and making sweat bloom from the pores in is hface, gathering at his brow and wetting his cheeks. His armpits felt damp and he wished he could pull off his overalls so as to escape the heat. The coals were scooped up and quickly shucked into the hungry flames, enough to heat the school and warm the water. Kenny inspected the pipes which was little more than glancing over them to make sure there was nothing egregiously wrong with them. Everything seemed to be as it should. He was ready to leave when he felt something very strange.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Cold. It was suddenly very cold in the boiler room. He looked down to the furnace but it was still heated with its red light. The sweat on his skin felt like icicles pricking into him. He wrapped his arms around himself and turned to the stairs only to be met with darkness. Kenny swung back around to look for the fire but everything was black and the only thing he could feel was the fabric of his clothes though his fingers were quickly becoming numb. He heard screaming, scratching, crying? He kept turning, whipping his head one way or another to get a sense of the room around him but everything was completely dark and nothing could be made out. His breath came out in pants that crystallized into white puffs of air. The breaths only seemed to become quicker and even though it was his own lungs, Kenny couldn’t slow down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> A red pair of eyes shone in the darkness and Kenny lost all feeling.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>